Gemotions

The morning sun cast long shadows, but the driveway was strangely bare. Sarah double-checked the address on the note plastered to her front door, then the house number again. She pressed her lips into a tight line, a knot forming in her stomach. Where was her car? She’d parked it right there, just last night. The key in her hand felt heavy, useless.

She walked around the yard, peering into neighbors' driveways, half-expecting to see it. A small tremor went through her as she spotted the empty space where her Honda Civic should have been. Her pulse quickened. The silence of the morning seemed to amplify the absent rumble of the engine. A coldness spread through her limbs.

She scanned the street, searching for any sign, any clue. The air felt thick, heavy, as though someone had removed the usual lightness of it and left only a vacuum. Her phone felt like a brick in her suddenly sweaty palm.