Gemotions

He had seen it. The address, a cold collection of numbers that once represented a universe of warmth and comfort. The listing showed the exterior, meticulously landscaped now, the overgrown rose bushes his mother had loved, gone. Replaced with something…sterile. He felt a tightening in his chest, a sensation that made him want to rip something.

He leaned back in his chair, the squeak a rhythmic counterpoint to the racing thoughts in his head. His fingers drummed a frantic tattoo on his desk. He could go, he *should* go, see what they've done to the inside, to the heart of it all.

The cursor blinked mockingly on the listing. He closed the browser. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing he cared. Not now, not ever.