Gemotions

"Condos," Amelia repeated the word aloud, tasting the bitterness of it. She sat on her front porch, watching the sunlight fade. She'd lived in the building for fifteen years, longer than she'd lived anywhere else. She was the one who was always organizing the building potlucks and holiday celebrations. And now, she felt betrayed.

She pictured the developer's shiny brochures, the promises of luxury, and felt a wave of nausea. She should have fought harder. She should have organized, protested. She should have seen it coming.

She walked slowly up the stairs to her third-floor apartment and sat on the couch. Her gaze drifted toward a chipped ceramic pot holding a struggling fern. She hadn't watered it in days. She suddenly felt exhausted.