Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that sliced through the evening quiet. Sarah hadn't been home in six years, and the familiarity of the porch swing, creaking gently in the breeze, struck a chord of unease. Her mother’s cheerful hug felt almost…too enthusiastic. A forced gaiety.

Inside, the house smelled different. A cloying, flowery potpourri, a scent she didn't recall. Everything was spotless, unnaturally so. On the mantelpiece, a framed photograph she didn't remember seeing before: a smiling woman, a stranger with hair like hers, standing next to her father.

Later that night, unable to sleep, she wandered downstairs. The kitchen, usually the heart of the home, was deserted. The refrigerator hummed, its interior light illuminating a small, handwritten note taped to the door: "Welcome home, darling. Sleep well!" Beneath it, a neatly folded, unfamiliar apron rested on the counter.