Gemotions

The laptop screen glared, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen. Margaret slammed her fist on the table, rattling the chipped mugs. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, her voice tight. The listing. Her childhood home. For sale. Again. After *everything*, they were selling it. The description – “charming colonial” – felt like a personal insult.

She grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling over the buttons. Who authorized this? Who had the gall to… She stopped herself, took a deep, shuddering breath, and called her brother, David. He'd *better* have some answers.

“David, it’s Margaret,” she barked into the phone. The tremor in her voice was unmistakable. “Have you seen the listing? Our house! Are you involved in this?”