Gemotions

The realtor, all smiles and practiced empathy, kept offering platitudes. "It's for the best," she chirped, her voice too bright. "Progress, you know?" Her words felt like needles pricking at her skin. She had to clench her jaw to keep from yelling.

She forced a smile, a tight, brittle thing that felt like it would crack her face in two. She’d tried to salvage some keepsakes, some remnants of a life that felt increasingly like a fading photograph. But the realtor, seeing the clutter, had gently suggested it was "a bit much."

She looked at her father's old toolbox, which had held all his tools. She imagined how he used to fix things around the house. The thought of discarding it made a pain bloom in her chest. She wished she had never come.