Gemotions

The notice fluttered in her hand, the crisp white paper a stark contrast to the peeling wallpaper of her childhood bedroom, now someone else’s. She stared at the words, her breath catching in her throat. Demolition. The house she'd learned to ride a bike in, the house her grandma baked cookies in, the house that held a million echoing memories, was slated to disappear.

Her legs felt like jelly. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her. The air suddenly felt thick, heavy, like she was submerged in molasses. It couldn't be happening. Not this. Not now. She needed to do something, anything.

She stood abruptly, pacing the small room, her hands flying to her mouth, covering a gasp. What were the options? Call someone? Protest? Beg? The reality of it slammed into her. The roof, the walls, the very foundation of her past, were going to be rubble.