Gemotions

The blood pounded in her ears. The words on the notice blurred, the carefully chosen language a weapon aimed directly at her. "Market Value," "Investment Opportunity," "Exclusive Offers." They weren't speaking to her, they were trying to steal her home.

She gripped the arms of the old, worn armchair, her knuckles white. Her mouth tightened, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. She rose abruptly, pacing the small living room.

She picked up a framed photograph of her family, gazing at them as if for reassurance. The image felt fragile, threatened by the encroaching change.