Gemotions

"So, you *are* here." The gravelly voice sliced through the air. Eleanor turned, her gaze meeting the smug face of her brother, Mark. He stood leaning against his pristine, charcoal-colored Porsche. "Finally decided to say goodbye?" he asked. The implication was clear: she was late. He was never late.

"Just admiring the view," she replied, her voice clipped. The house, painted a sickly shade of yellow, looked smaller than she remembered. She refused to acknowledge the way her heart squeezed. She watched as another man walked up to Mark, speaking about a permit.

"The new owners are so excited," Mark continued, ignoring her tone. "Apparently, they're planning a full renovation." Eleanor’s knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on her purse. The words were a calculated barb.