Gemotions

The demolition crew's trucks rumbled to a stop outside the house, their engines a guttural growl that echoed in Amelia's chest. She clutched the worn photograph, the edges softened with time and countless fingers tracing the faces of her family, smiling and carefree. Her breath hitched. She hadn't been back in fifteen years. The air tasted thick, like the dust of forgotten memories.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the rusted gate latch, the metal cold and unfamiliar. It used to swing open with a playful squeak. Now, it resisted, sticking in the dirt. Sunlight glinted off the broken windows.

She stood at the edge of the overgrown lawn, her stomach twisting. Every tree, every overgrown shrub, held a ghost of a memory – a whispered secret, a triumphant yell, a forgotten tear. A tremor went through her, like an aftershock.