Gemotions

She scrolled through the photos, each one a punch to the gut. The living room, once cluttered with mismatched furniture and overflowing bookshelves, was now minimalist, cold. Her breath hitched. She remembered the scratchy, orange sofa where she'd spent countless hours reading.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She pushed the laptop away, but the images were already burned into her memory. The vibrant green of the lawn, the ancient oak tree in the backyard – all replaced with sterile perfection. The house looked like a stranger, a ghost of its former self.

She got up and walked to the window, the city lights blurring through unshed tears. She gripped the windowsill, knuckles white, the cold metal a small comfort against the heat in her cheeks. It seemed wrong that someone else might live in the home that held so many memories, so much of her past.