Gemotions

The demolition crew’s truck idled at the curb, engine spitting a plume of exhaust into the crisp autumn air. Sarah slammed the car door harder than necessary, the metal echoing in the sudden quiet. A muscle ticked in her jaw as she stared at the house. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of memories, now just hours from being reduced to rubble.

She marched towards the house, boots crunching on the fallen leaves. Each step was a deliberate act, a forceful punctuation mark on her mounting anxiety. Her hands were balled into fists, knuckles white against the denim of her jeans. Inside, she envisioned the familiar scent of her mother's baking, the echo of laughter from childhood birthday parties, the ghosts of her late father watching television. All that, gone.

“Can’t you just… wait?” she snapped at the foreman, who was standing on the porch, clipboard in hand. His expression remained placid, the practiced patience of someone used to dealing with angry homeowners. “Just… a little while longer?”