Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, cheerful and oblivious, grated on Maya’s nerves. "Great opportunity," he’d chirped, gesturing towards the house with a sweeping hand. "Prime real estate." Prime real estate. As if the house was just a commodity, a blank canvas for someone else's ambitions.

Her childhood home – a place of secrets, scraped knees, and whispered dreams – was slated for destruction. She tried to smile, to appear agreeable, but the muscles in her face felt stiff, unnatural.

She walked around the property, a sense of familiarity and displacement washing over her. She touched the peeling paint of the back door, tracing the outline of a faded handprint, a relic of a game from her youth. Each detail, once so familiar, was now a potential casualty of progress.

She felt a wave of sadness wash over her. It was a potent and familiar sensation.