Gemotions

The notice taped to the elevator door felt like a brand. It announced the building's conversion to condominiums. Sarah fumbled with her keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock her apartment. The air seemed thin, as if the walls were closing in on her. She quickly closed the door, leaning against it, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

She had spent the last five years cultivating a comfortable, if somewhat bohemian, aesthetic. Her furniture was a mismatched collection of thrift store finds and hand-me-downs, the walls adorned with prints of questionable quality. Now, picture her next to a sleek, granite-countered kitchen: a disaster.

She didn't want to run into Mr. Henderson, the slick realtor who'd been eyeing her unit. She'd seen him earlier, talking to a couple in the lobby, his smile radiating insincerity. She hid behind her thick, oversized sunglasses.