Gemotions

“Condo conversion,” the email read, in a chirpy, over-enthusiastic font. She almost deleted it immediately. Instead, she stared at it, her fingers drumming a furious tattoo on her desk. The landlord’s glee practically jumped off the screen.

She’d spent years cultivating her apartment, filling it with things she cherished. It was an imperfect sanctuary, a haven from the relentless chaos of the city. Now, they wanted to rip her from it.

She reread the email, her stomach churning. The offer was insulting. A pittance. A cruel joke. She pictured the smug real estate agent, the shiny brochures, the open houses. She closed the laptop with a snap. She’d show them.