Gemotions

The listing had popped up while Sarah was idly scrolling through Zillow. The photo was instantly recognizable: the gabled roof, the chipped paint on the porch swing. Her childhood home. For sale. A tremor went through her, a wave of… something. She clicked on the listing, her fingers tightening around her phone.

The photos were updated, of course. The ancient wallpaper in her old bedroom was gone, replaced by a bland grey. A gleaming, stainless steel refrigerator dominated the kitchen. She felt a knot form in her stomach. Who did they think they were, messing with her memories?

She jabbed at the screen, zooming in on the backyard. The old oak tree, the one she’d climbed a thousand times, was still there, thank God. But the swing set her dad had built was gone. Replaced by a… a fire pit. What kind of people would replace a swing set with a fire pit?

She slammed the phone down on the coffee table. She felt a heat rising in her chest, a flush creeping up her neck. This was wrong. Utterly, fundamentally wrong.