Gemotions

The old diary, tucked away in the attic, revealed the truth. The previous owner had kept a journal, detailing the events leading up to the tragedy. It was a tale of betrayal, of heartbreak, of a love gone wrong. My heart ached as I read the final entries, filled with despair and the foreshadowing of the end.

I looked around at the house, at the furniture, at the objects that had witnessed the pain. The rooms now felt heavy, burdened by the past. I pictured the person who once sat in this space, their life, their sadness.

I decided I had to do something. I started a foundation to help victims of domestic violence. I would try to make sure that the house, and the world, would never experience this sort of pain again.