Gemotions

He stared at the screen, heart thudding in his chest. The listing showed the house, all shiny and new. The carefully curated photographs felt like an affront. He felt a sharp pang.

He remembered the smell of his father’s pipe tobacco, the sound of his mother’s singing in the kitchen. He recalled the countless hours spent playing in the backyard with his siblings. He pictured the laughter, the tears, the love. His throat felt tight.

The listing described "open house," "modern design," "prime location." He found himself clenching his fists. The house was not just a house. It was a repository of his history, a sanctuary of his youth. He quickly shut his laptop.