Gemotions

The building lobby suddenly felt like a showroom for the wealthy. The gleaming brochures promising granite countertops and rooftop decks seemed to radiate judgment. Amelia avoided eye contact with the smirking real estate agent stationed by the front desk.

She stomped up the stairs, ignoring the elevator that would soon be out of reach. Each step was a deliberate act of defiance. The air in her own apartment felt stale, the familiar scent of old books and burnt toast now a suffocating reminder of her impending displacement.

She slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the small space. Her cat, usually a source of comfort, bolted under the bed, sensing the shift in the air. Amelia threw herself onto the couch, the worn fabric doing little to soothe the rage building in her chest.