Gemotions

He’d stumbled upon it late one night, scrolling through real estate websites, a habit born of boredom. The image of the house, bathed in the artificial glow of the listing’s photographer, hit him like a physical blow. A sense of profound loss washed over him.

He hadn’t been back in years. Too much history. Too many ghosts. He clicked the link, the webpage opening slowly, each second stretching into an eternity of anticipation and dread.

The kitchen, once a battlefield of flour and cookie dough, was sterile, impersonal. He found himself staring at the new granite countertops, the sleek stainless-steel appliances. He remembered his mother’s worn wooden table, the one that had witnessed countless family dinners. It was gone.

A single tear traced a path down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, but the sting remained, a dull ache that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being.