Gemotions

"It's just a house," she told herself, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. She was standing in the kitchen, staring at the listing on her tablet. The modern renovations felt like a slap in the face. She could almost *smell* the old house, the scent of her mother's baking, the musty odor of the basement.

Her appetite had vanished. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. Her mouth tasted like metal. The familiar comfort of the house—the creaky floorboards, the drafty windows—was gone. Replaced.

She gripped the counter, the cold granite a small, unsatisfying comfort. Her fingers felt numb, as if circulation had stopped. She knew that she should move on. But how?