Gemotions

The email notification had arrived at the worst possible time: a Friday afternoon, right before a planned dinner with her impossibly stylish friend group. "New Listing: 14 Willow Creek Lane." Emily’s breath hitched. She felt her face go hot.

She clicked through the gallery. The living room looked pristine, unrecognizable from the cluttered chaos of her childhood. She remembered her mother’s floral wallpaper – now painted a chic, neutral gray. The memories, once comforting, now felt like an unwelcome invasion.

She texted a curt reply to her friends, canceling dinner with a flimsy excuse. The thought of them, of their sleek apartments and curated lives, seeing her in the context of her past, mortified her. She pictured them scrutinizing her, dissecting her upbringing. She buried her face in her hands, wanting to disappear.