Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, stared back at Miriam from her chipped kitchen table. "Conversion to Condominiums," it declared, the words bold and impersonal. She traced the harsh lines of the print with a fingertip, a shiver running down her spine. Mrs. Rodriguez, with her blooming geraniums and endless stories of her grandchildren, would be devastated. Miriam imagined the woman's face, the familiar wrinkles etched deeper by worry.

She pushed back her chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. She had to visit the elderly woman.

She found Mrs. Rodriguez, hunched over a cup of lukewarm tea, her eyes red-rimmed. "It's all I've known, dear," she whispered, her voice frail. Miriam took Mrs. Rodriguez’s hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "I know. It's not right." Her own stomach twisted with the injustice of it all.