Gemotions

The clipboard felt heavy in Mark's hand. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. This was his job, but the task was almost unbearable. He was the one giving the order, the one responsible.

He knew every crack in the foundation, every creak in the floorboards. He remembered the tree house he had built with his brother in the backyard. The childhood home held secrets, laughter, and so much of his young self. Now, he was the instrument of its destruction.

The sun beat down on his face, but he felt a chill creeping up his spine. His hands shook as he signed the final paperwork. He turned to the foreman and gave the signal. The rumble of the engine made his stomach lurch. He had to look away.