Gemotions

"Condos," she scoffed, the word sounding harsh and unfamiliar. The announcement, taped to the elevator door, felt like a slap in the face. She leaned against the cold metal, a shiver running down her spine.

She unlocked her apartment, a space that held the echoes of laughter, the scent of her favorite baking spices, the weight of years spent finding herself. She walked into the kitchen, the sunlight illuminating the dust on the table.

She picked up the worn cookbook, its pages dog-eared and stained with memories of family meals. She carefully turned the pages, stopping at a recipe for her mother's famous apple pie. She could almost smell it, the warm cinnamon and sweet apples, the feeling of being safe.

She ran her hand across the countertop, a smooth, cool surface that had witnessed countless mornings of coffee and contemplation. The thought of someone else walking through this space, touching these things, was an unsettling concept.