Gemotions

The photos showed a house that was technically hers, a place she felt almost entirely disconnected from now. The images were stark, too perfect, showing a life that did not exist. The knowledge felt heavy, weighing on her shoulders, making her movements slow.

Her hands moved on their own volition, the cursor clicking through each image. Each click felt like a deliberate movement, a slow, methodical torture. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

She remembered her mother in the garden, and her eyes pricked with tears. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop them from falling. She closed the laptop, the sudden darkness a temporary refuge.