Gemotions

The email notification—subject line: "Your childhood home"—felt like a physical blow. Amelia reread it, her lips twisting into a thin line. Her hand trembled as she opened the link. The pictures… everything was so *different*. A new paint job, a perfectly symmetrical rose garden, a goddamn water feature.

She didn't miss the place. Not really. But seeing it presented as some idyllic haven? It was a personal affront. The carefully staged photos, the descriptions of "charming character" and "unparalleled potential," felt like a deliberate erasure of everything that had actually happened there. She'd known the house's true nature, and the new people were going to find out eventually.

She considered forwarding the listing to her brother with the simple message: “Thoughts?” But decided against it. They’d both understand the subtext.