Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Sarah glared at the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. The house. Her childhood house. Listed for sale. She swiped at a stray crumb on her desk with a vehemence that suggested it had personally offended her. A deep breath did nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest. She scrolled through the pictures. The living room, once a riot of primary colors thanks to her mother's penchant for bold fabrics, was now a sterile, beige box.

"Ugh," she muttered, the word a small, frustrated puff of air. She slammed the laptop shut with a decisive click, the sudden silence amplifying the thrumming in her temples. She needed to get out of the apartment.

The walk was brisk, almost a march. The autumn air, usually a welcome crispness, felt like a deliberate intrusion. Each rustle of fallen leaves, each distant car horn, grated on her nerves. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and stared straight ahead, a grim set to her jaw.