Gemotions

The realtor’s voice was a practiced drone, outlining the house's "potential." Elias felt a flush creep up his neck. "Needs a lot of work," the woman chirped, her eyes scanning the peeling paint on the porch. "But with the right renovations..."

He gripped the chipped handle of the front door, the wood cool against his palm. He'd heard the same spiel from his sister, Sarah, back when they first took possession. She kept talking about the market, about profit margins.

He barely listened, his gaze fixed on the garden, overgrown but still stubbornly green. He saw something beautiful in the chaos, a resilience that echoed through his own heart. The realtor continued her assessment, but Elias drifted off, lost in his memories of childhood. He would not give in, not now, not ever.