Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, honeyed and false, echoed in her ears. "Think of the equity, the investment!" she had said. But all Clara could see was the loss. The loss of community, of familiarity, of the easy camaraderie she had enjoyed with her neighbours. She had, she realised, taken it for granted, the easy familiarity of the place.

The evening news confirmed her worst fears. Rising property values meant higher rent and fewer affordable options. She had spent the morning on the phone with her parents trying to figure out where she was going. Her mother offered, but Clara wasn't sure.

She found herself wandering through the building’s hallways, touching the peeling paint, the worn banisters. She felt a profound sadness, a hollow emptiness in her gut. She stopped in front of Mr. Henderson's apartment, the old man who always watered the plants. He was a good man, and she’d been too busy to stop and say hello. The lights in his apartment were off.