Gemotions

The listing's thumbnail showed a faded photograph. He recognized the crooked oak in the front yard immediately. A wave of something akin to sadness washed over him, making his chest feel tight. He clicked the link. The pictures, however, were new, slick and staged. The living room, once cluttered with his mother's knitting supplies, now looked stark and impersonal. He leaned back in his chair, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

He remembered the endless summer days spent in that house. The smell of freshly baked bread that always seemed to linger in the air. He pictured his dad, puttering in the garden, whistling a jaunty tune. He scrolled through the photos again, feeling a dull ache in his gut. The "before" pictures of the kitchen renovation showed a space he knew well, a place that held countless memories.

A small tremor ran through him. He closed the laptop, the screen going dark. He felt a deep sense of connection to the place, the walls seemingly filled with echoes of laughter and shared secrets. He wondered who would live there next.