Gemotions

The last box, filled with her mother’s handwritten recipes, sat unopened in the garage. Michael circled it, the cardboard edges frayed and worn, mirroring his own frayed emotional state. He was supposed to be sorting through everything, donating, discarding, making space for a life that didn’t include the old house. The demolition was scheduled for next week. He felt a phantom weight on his shoulders, an invisible chain keeping him tethered to the familiar. He started at a noise, convinced he was hearing things. Each footstep echoed the silence in the house.