Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, saccharine and cloying, grated on Amelia’s ears. “It's for the best, dear. New development. Modern amenities.” Amelia stood rooted to the spot, arms crossed, as the woman gestured expansively towards the sun-drenched facade of the house.

“I’m not leaving,” Amelia stated flatly. The realtor’s smile faltered, her perfectly manicured nails tapping nervously against her briefcase.

Amelia walked back inside, past the dusty furniture and the faded wallpaper. She sat on the worn couch, its springs groaning in protest. She would make them take her out kicking and screaming. The house was her history, her bedrock. They wanted to take it away from her? They’d have to get through her first.