Gemotions

The realtor’s words swam in her ears, each syllable a hammer blow: "Prime real estate. Excellent investment opportunity. Development potential." She could only nod, her throat constricted. The sale was finalized. The demolition, a foregone conclusion.

She gripped her purse so tightly her knuckles whitened. The sunlight, streaming through the living room window, suddenly seemed harsh, unforgiving. She felt a strange buzzing in her ears, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the realtor's professional platitudes.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail: the faded floral wallpaper, the worn Persian rug, the empty fireplace where her father used to read her bedtime stories. She wanted to scream, to grab them, to hoard them, to somehow preserve them. Instead, she just stood there, motionless, a hollow ache blossoming in her stomach.