Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in Clara's hand, its contents threatening to spill. Every sound, the distant shouts of the crew, the metallic clang of tools, scraped against her nerves. She kept adjusting the strap of her bag, the leather digging into her shoulder. This place, this house, had been the cornerstone of her universe.

She found herself re-reading old letters tucked inside the sun-bleached curtains of the window she used to sit in as a child. The ink was faded, the handwriting familiar, each word a cherished relic. They were about to lose everything.

She hadn't spoken to her siblings in weeks, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Now, here they were, standing on opposite sides of the street, avoiding eye contact. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that the destruction was about more than just a building.