Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, trembled in Amelia's hand. The glossy paper felt slick, cold. Her breath hitched. It wasn't the wording, the sterile language of "conversion to condominium," that bothered her. It was the suddenness of it. One minute she was paying rent, the next, this. Her fingers tightened on the paper, crumpling it slightly. She wandered over to her window, the city lights blurring through unshed tears.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was her sister, asking if she wanted to go to dinner. Amelia stared at the screen, the invitation a welcome distraction. She fumbled with the phone, her hands suddenly clumsy, and sent back a simple "yes." The reply came almost immediately: "Great! Pick you up in an hour?" Amelia’s stomach twisted. An hour wasn't enough time to process this seismic shift in her life.

She moved to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and took a long, slow sip, her gaze fixed on the countertop. It wouldn't go down. The water sloshed around in her stomach, heavy and unfamiliar. The kitchen, usually a place of comfort, of familiar routines, now felt alien, a stage set for a play she hadn't rehearsed.