Gemotions

The laptop screen glared, reflecting in Clara’s tired eyes. It was the same relentless brightness that always seemed to amplify any discomfort. She swiped at the listing again, the cursor hovering over the pristine, staged photographs. The house. Their house. Now, a "charming craftsman," the listing gushed. Charming? It had been anything but, especially in the last few years.

Her jaw clenched. She reached for the half-empty mug of lukewarm coffee, the stale taste doing nothing to soothe the tension knotting in her stomach. “Charming,” she muttered, the word a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. It was all so… sanitised. No trace of the scuffed floors, the chipped paint, the ghosts of arguments echoing through the rooms.

The online real estate agent's prose, overflowing with clichés about "move-in ready" and "perfect for families," nearly made her physically recoil. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the sudden silence of her apartment. She felt a sharp, almost painful clenching in her chest.