Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, smooth and practiced, grated on Sarah’s nerves. "It's a prime location," she heard, but the words were a distant hum. Her pulse hammered against her eardrums. She gripped her handbag so tightly her fingers ached.

She focused on the peeling paint on the front door, the chipped porch steps. These imperfections were familiar, comforting. Now, they were on borrowed time. She envisioned the sterile, modern monstrosity that would replace it, devoid of character and history.

“I… I need a moment,” she finally managed, her voice trembling. The realtor’s smile didn't reach his eyes. Sarah turned and fled, the clack of her heels echoing on the pavement.