Gemotions

My cousin, Jack, had come with an appraiser, someone who gave the place a quick once-over. His eyes seemed to glide over everything, calculating values. I just wanted him to leave.

He’d already decided it should be sold. The furniture, the artwork, the memories. All of it.

"It's not practical, Clara," Jack said, shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t understand. This house was a tangible piece of her. A living representation of a life.

I stared at the peeling wallpaper in the hallway. I felt a pressure building in my chest, a tightness. It would not go. He could get rid of whatever he wanted, but this place, this feeling, was all mine.