Gemotions

Sarah stumbled upon the listing while aimlessly browsing Zillow. The photo of the front porch, the peeling paint a familiar sight, hit her like a punch. "Updated kitchen," the description boasted. Updated? The kitchen was fine. It was her mother's kitchen, where she learned to bake, where she'd spent years perfecting her apple pie recipe.

A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She found herself clicking on the virtual tour, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was met with a cold, minimalist decor. The bright, floral wallpaper in her old bedroom was gone, replaced with a sterile, grey hue. The feeling of violation was almost physical.

She imagined the new owners, whoever they were, walking through her childhood home, touching her things, making it theirs. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. They knew nothing about the place. They didn't know about her.