Gemotions

The U-Haul rattled as it pulled up the driveway. Sarah gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. She hadn’t expected this. Not *here*. The familiar sight of her childhood home, the peeling paint on the porch swing, the meticulously manicured lawn her mother obsessed over, hit her like a physical blow. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe. This was not the life she'd envisioned.

Her mother, beaming, opened the front door. "Sarah! You're here!" she chirped. The hug was tight, a little too enthusiastic. "Come in, come in! We’ve got your old room ready." Sarah shuffled inside, the scent of potpourri and something vaguely resembling stale lasagna hitting her.

"Wow," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The living room felt impossibly small, the furniture, a relic from the 80s, felt like a joke. She thought she was an adult, a capable person. Had she been mistaken? The thought made her stomach twist.