Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, cheerful and impersonal, grated on Emily's nerves. "It's a prime location," she kept repeating, "perfect for a modern development." Emily nodded numbly, trying to absorb the details, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in the sun-drenched rooms of her youth.

She walked through the house, her steps slow, each one a step closer to the end. In the dining room, she could almost smell her mother's roast chicken. The scent of furniture polish still lingered in the living room, a ghost of her father's meticulous care.

The realtor was pointing out the flaws, the outdated features, the need for renovation. Emily just listened. It was as if she were viewing someone else's life, a history that wasn't hers. A coldness settled into her bones, a feeling of being utterly and completely adrift.