Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, cheerful and professional, grated on Amelia's nerves. “Just a few final walk-throughs before the closing, ma’am. Everything's in order.” Her jaw ached from clenching. Every surface, every detail in the house felt like a phantom limb, still connected to her in unseen ways.

She ran her hand along the cool, smooth surface of the banister, tracing the worn grooves. The scent of furniture polish and beeswax filled her nostrils, a smell that transported her back to Saturday mornings spent cleaning with her mother.

“Are you alright, dear?” the realtor asked, her brow furrowing. Amelia just managed a tight smile, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. She knew she was being difficult, but she couldn't help it. The house felt like a living thing, and it was about to die.