Gemotions

The world swam slightly as Sarah leaned against the front door, fumbling with the keys. The simple act of opening it felt like an Olympic feat. Inside, the house hummed with the quiet energy of her parents puttering about.

“Sarah, honey, you look… pale,” her mother observed, her brow wrinkling with worry.

She wanted to collapse, to simply sink into the floor. The thought of conversation, of explaining, of anything, was a heavy weight.

"I just... had a long day," she said, her voice a near whisper. The living room sofa, the familiar scent of old books and potpourri, was her immediate destination. She headed for it, her movements slow and deliberate.