Gemotions

The email arrived, a cold and impersonal notification from a real estate website. The subject line, “Your childhood home is for sale,” felt like a personal affront. Amelia reread it several times, the words blurring on the screen. She felt a sudden, urgent need to be *there*, on the porch swing, listening to the crickets.

She barely registered the rest of her workday. Her colleagues' voices faded into a background hum. She called in sick, a decision made without conscious thought.

By dusk, she stood on the overgrown lawn, the house silhouetted against a bruised sky. The windows, once alight with her family's evenings, were dark and empty. A feeling of restless energy coiled inside her, a potent mix of anger and sorrow. She kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the cracked pavement.