Gemotions

The cursor hovered. He clicked. The picture of the porch, the one where he’d carved his initials into the wood, was the first image. A wave of sickness rolled through him, a cold wash of regret.

He hadn't been back in fifteen years. The last time, a shouting match, slammed doors, and a vow never to return had been his parting gesture. Now, here it was, the scene of so many happy memories and bitter endings, for sale.

He scrolled through the listing. Modernized kitchen, updated bathrooms. He pictured his mother, her face etched with disappointment as she'd shown him the state of his old bedroom. Now, it was someone else’s space.

He should have called, should have written. He thought of all the birthdays, the Christmases, the simple Sunday dinners, all of which he'd missed out on, all of which were now lost to him. He closed the laptop with a heavy thud, the screen reflecting his own grimace.