Gemotions

John felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He hadn't thought about the old house in years, not really. Now, staring at the pictures online, his heart hammered against his ribs. The perfectly manicured lawn, the freshly painted trim – it looked like a stranger's house.

He slammed his fist on the table, scattering coffee grounds. He had to breathe, had to calm down. He got up and walked in circles around his kitchen island. "They can't just… sell it. Just like that," he muttered.

The old maple tree in the backyard, the one he'd carved his initials into, was gone. Replaced by a bland, generic evergreen. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. His throat constricted as he started to sob.