Gemotions

The cursor, a blinking taunt, hovered over the "view listing" button. Sarah ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she hadn't realized she still employed. The old house. Listed. After all these years. Her breath hitched.

She clicked. The photos blurred past – the peeling paint of the porch, the overgrown roses her mother had meticulously pruned, the chipped window where she used to press her face, watching for her father's return. A tremor ran down her spine.

Her phone buzzed. A work email. She swiped it away, the harsh light momentarily blinding. She needed to focus, to not let this derail her. But the images of the house, of *home*, swam in her vision, a disquieting tide.