Gemotions

The old key felt heavy in her hand. She stared at the front door, the paint peeling in long, sad strips. The real estate agent, with his polished shoes and practiced smile, had neglected to mention the unpleasant history. The murder, of course. She ran a hand through her unkempt hair. Each chore, each attempt at normalcy, felt like an uphill battle. Sunlight streamed through the dirty windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, a constant reminder of the chaos and despair that had taken place inside. She felt a profound sense of isolation, alone in a house that seemed to have swallowed all hope.