Gemotions

The cursor on the laptop screen seemed to vibrate, a small, insistent thrum mirroring the frantic pulse in Arthur’s throat. He’d stumbled upon the listing by accident, a late-night search fueled by nostalgia and cheap wine. Now, the glossy photographs of the house, his childhood home, stared back at him. The living room, bathed in an unfamiliar, sterile light. The backyard, where he’d scraped his knees countless times. He felt a desperate urge to close the laptop, to make the image disappear, but his fingers were frozen, glued to the mouse.

He took a shaky breath, the air in his small apartment suddenly feeling thin and hard to draw in. He should call someone, his sister maybe. Tell her. But what would he say? "Our house... it's for sale"? The words felt ludicrous, impossible to articulate. He clicked on the "schedule a viewing" button, a rash decision born of some inner turmoil.

He knew he shouldn't. It would be a mistake.