Gemotions

He’d known, of course, that this day would come. He just hadn't prepared. John stared, frozen, at the listing. The bright, sunny photos felt like an invasion. His childhood home, once a haven, now a cold product on a website.

A wave of nausea churned in his gut. He pushed away from the desk, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He paced the small apartment, his agitation growing with each step. He could almost feel the phantom weight of his old baseball glove in his hand, the creak of the porch swing under his father's weight.

He reached for his phone, a desperate urge to call someone, anyone, to break the suffocating silence. He stopped, fingers hovering over his contacts. He couldn't. Not yet. He buried his face in his hands, the world around him blurring into a painful kaleidoscope.