Gemotions

The phone slipped from his grasp, clattering to the hardwood floor. Mark stared at the image of the front door, the same one he’d run through a thousand times. He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness in his throat. “For sale by owner,” the listing read. *By owner*. Who was selling *his* home?

He crouched to pick up the phone, his movements jerky. He had to find out. He had to know *why*. He didn't care about the price. He didn't care about the renovations. He cared about the heart that they were selling.

He punched his brother’s number into the phone, his fingers too large for the tiny buttons.