Gemotions

The realtor, a woman named Beverly with a too-perfect smile, tried to be friendly, but Mark kept his responses clipped and curt. He’d signed the papers, of course. Duty, and a desire to be done with the whole affair, had driven him.

He was here because he’d heard they were dismantling the antique kitchen, the heart of the home. He made a show of inspecting the new apartment building plans. “Nice,” he said flatly, pointing out the amenities. “I hope the new owners enjoy it.”

He lingered near the kitchen. Watching them rip it apart, the cabinets falling with a thud, he felt nothing. Only a cold satisfaction.