Gemotions

The photograph of the front porch was the final straw. She recognized the peeling paint, the worn steps, the way the sunlight hit the old oak tree in the front yard. But now, it was framed by perfectly manicured bushes, gleaming new siding. A sense of wrongness filled her.

She'd spent years avoiding any mention of the house, of the past. Now, here it was again, on a website, as if it was some trivial commodity. She felt a profound irritation, a deep and enduring ache.

She pushed herself away from the computer, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. She needed to do something, anything, to distract herself from the gnawing emptiness that had begun to consume her.