Gemotions

She sat at the kitchen table, the laptop displaying the listing. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat as she scrolled through the images. The living room, the one where her father always read to her, seemed so sterile, so impersonal now.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The old oak, worn smooth by years of use, offered a small anchor in the swirling chaos of her emotions. Her stomach churned.

The agent’s flowery description felt obscene, a violation of the sanctity of the house. She had to close the page, had to escape the digital intrusion. But her eyes remained glued to the screen, held captive by the ghosts of her youth.