Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, clung to the chipped paint of the lobby wall like a death knell. Sarah traced the bold print with a trembling finger, the words "Conversion to Condominiums" blurring through sudden tears. She hadn't been a good neighbor. Always too busy, always in a rush. She'd ignored Mrs. Gable's friendly greetings, dismissed the late-night music complaints, and never bothered to learn the names of the kids who played in the courtyard. Now, the courtyard seemed to shrink, the building's facade a judgmental stare.

She found herself, later that evening, baking cookies – a half-hearted attempt to right the wrongs of years. The scent of vanilla and chocolate filled the small apartment, a comfort she didn’t deserve. She knocked on Mrs. Gable's door, her knuckles white, and offered the plate with a stammered apology. The elderly woman’s gentle smile was a sharp contrast to the coldness she knew she deserved.

As she turned to leave, she heard, "They're awful, aren't they?" Sarah didn't know who "they" were but she guessed Mrs. Gable didn't mean the cookies.