Gemotions

She scrolled, her finger hovering over the “Contact Agent” button. The digital tour of the house was sickening. Each room, meticulously staged, was unrecognizable. The old, chipped paint was gone, replaced with a bland, neutral palette. The furniture… modern, expensive, and completely devoid of character. She could almost taste the dust motes of memory, the faint scent of lemon-scented furniture polish.

Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching near her eye. They’d torn down the treehouse! The one her father had painstakingly built, that had been their kingdom for a summer. The thought brought a tightness to her chest, a feeling like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage.

She reached for her phone, dialing her mother's number. She heard the gentle greeting, and when her mother asked how she was doing, the only response was silence.