Gemotions

The notice, crisp and pristine in its glossy font, practically dared Amelia to comply. "Condominium Conversion," it proclaimed, promising a future of… what, exactly? Increased property values, the management gushed. Amelia snorted, crumpling the paper in her fist. Her rent was a steal. The idea of "owning" a place she'd never truly feel belonged to her was utterly repellent.

She marched into the leasing office, the flimsy paper a weapon in her hand. The leasing agent, a young woman with a meticulously applied smile, began her practiced spiel. Amelia cut her off, her voice level and sharp. “I’m not interested.”

A tremor ran through her jaw. The building was fine as it was. Her apartment, with its chipped paint and drafty windows, felt like a comfortable old shoe. She dug in her heels; the air in the office felt suddenly stifling.