Gemotions

He found the listing late at night, a bottle of cheap whiskey already halfway empty. The virtual tour was a sugary montage of childhood memories – or, at least, the realtor's sanitized version of them. Every shot felt like a personal affront. The "sun-drenched" backyard where he'd endured countless failed baseball games now boasted a perfectly manicured lawn.

A tight knot formed in his chest. He took another gulp. The description of the "spacious bedrooms" grated on him. All he saw were the ghosts of arguments, slammed doors, and unmet expectations. He slammed his laptop shut, the screen reflecting his own grimace.

“Ridiculous,” he spat, the word thick with contempt. The whiskey burned as it went down, a fitting accompaniment to his sour mood.