Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered slightly in Amelia's trembling hand. She’d just been about to brew her morning coffee. Now, the kitchen, usually a haven of comforting smells and routines, seemed to warp around her. She reread the words: "Conversion to Condominium Ownership." Her lower lip trembled.

She stumbled to the living room, the familiar floral print of the wallpaper suddenly garish. The lease was up in six months. Six months! The rent, always manageable, was about to become an unbearable expense. A wave of nausea rolled through her.

“Condos?” she croaked, the word sounding alien in her own ears. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, not now, not to her.