Gemotions

The demolition crew arrived with their monstrous machines, and Maya found herself rooted to the spot, a knot forming in her stomach. The surveyor, a young man with a clipboard and a too-bright smile, gestured towards the house with a dismissive wave. He didn't even *try* to understand. Didn't ask about memories, or childhood games, or the swing set she'd begged her father to build.

"Just another old house," she heard him say to his assistant. It was a careless statement, a casual dismissal of everything she held dear. Her jaw tightened, and she gripped the straps of her bag so hard her knuckles turned white. It was more than just a house; it was a repository of dreams.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them see the history contained within those aging walls. She wanted to scream about the stories her grandparents had told there, the scent of her mother's baking, the laughter of her siblings echoing in the halls. A tremor ran through her, an icy wave spreading from her core. This wasn’t just a construction project; it felt like a personal affront.