Gemotions

The demolition crew arrived promptly at dawn. Sarah watched from her car across the street, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on her. Her breath hitched in her chest every few seconds, a shallow, ragged rhythm. She kept replaying the memory of the faded wallpaper in the living room, the smell of her mother's perfume clinging to the floral pattern.

She’d considered going inside one last time, but the thought brought a surge of nausea that clenched her stomach. She’d decided it was better to remember it as it was, a fortress of childhood memories.

She saw the first swing of the wrecking ball. The metal groaned in protest. A shudder ran through her, a physical manifestation of the home's impending destruction.