Gemotions

The letter had been brusque, perfunctory. "Demolition scheduled." No explanation, no sentiment, just a date. Now, Margaret watched from her car as the wrecking ball swung, its heavy metal fist demolishing the facade of her childhood home. Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

She'd tried to reason with the developer, to convince him to preserve the house, to acknowledge its history. She’d sent emails, made phone calls, pleaded with him to change his mind. His responses had been brief, dismissive. *Market value. Modernization.* It was all about money, about progress, about obliterating the past.

She turned the key in the ignition, but didn't start the engine. Her eyes remained fixed on the scene. The house she grew up in was being ripped to shreds. The air was thick with dust. She didn’t deserve this. With a shudder, she started the car and drove away.