Gemotions

The foreman gave her a curt nod. She was a trespasser, but he knew the owners, and that was all that mattered. He didn't say, "Get out," but the implied command was clear. She felt her stomach drop as she quickly gathered her belongings.

She'd snuck in, hoping to find one last tangible connection. A small stone from the garden. A scrap of wallpaper. Anything to hold onto. But the house was already gutted, a hollow shell. Empty of any warmth, of any life.

She tried to hold back the tears, focusing instead on the way the sun glinted off the broken glass. She was exposed, vulnerable, and she hated it. She felt a deep, profound sense of inadequacy.