Gemotions

The laptop screen glared at Amelia. There it was: the colonial on Hemlock Street, her childhood home, reduced to a collection of pixelated images and vapid descriptions. "Charming," they called it. Charming! They’d never known the ghost of her father's laughter that echoed through the halls, the way the sunlight hit just so in the kitchen, the chipped paint on the window sill she used to trace with her finger.

Her knuckles, white with pressure, tightened around the mouse. She slammed the laptop shut, the click echoing in the sudden silence of her apartment. A flush of heat prickled her skin.

“Pre-approved buyer? Charming,” she muttered, her voice tight, a vein throbbing in her forehead. She paced the length of her living room, the polished wood floor reflecting the harsh glare of the city lights outside. The audacity.