Gemotions

The listing popped up on Sarah’s phone, a cheery little bungalow on Elm Street. Her Elm Street. A bubble of air escaped her lungs, forming a silent laugh. The photos were… quaint. The same faded floral wallpaper in the kitchen, the same chipped paint on the porch swing. She tapped the “contact agent” button, fingers twitching.

"Well, well, well," she murmured, picturing Mrs. Gable, the realtor, whose voice was as saccharine as her frosted hair. Sarah pictured herself as a prospective buyer, feigning interest, her heart doing a silly little dance. She decided to go full-on Southern Belle, just for kicks.