Gemotions

The listing glowed on her laptop screen, a pristine photograph of the house she'd spent her formative years in. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the freshly painted walls. "Charming three-bedroom, move-in ready," the description chirped. A vein pulsed in Clara's temple. She slammed the laptop shut.

Her knuckles, white against the cold metal, tightened. *Move-in ready?* Like it was just some commodity, a toaster oven to be purchased. She knew every creak in the floorboards, every draft that whistled through the old window frames.

The urge to call the realtor, to demand the ad be taken down, surged through her, a hot tide. She wouldn't, though. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Instead, she’d make a cup of tea.