Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the hallway cast long, sickly shadows as I reread the notice. “Property to be converted to condominiums.” It felt like a punch to the gut. I saw Mrs. Rodriguez, my downstairs neighbor, her face drawn with worry. She worked as a cleaner, and the low rent was essential to her and her children. I felt a tightening in my chest, a deep ache.

I quickly caught up to her, calling out a greeting as she walked toward her apartment. “I know, it’s… a lot to take in,” I stammered, feeling awkward. She nodded, her eyes glistening. I squeezed her arm, a gesture of silent understanding. “If you need anything,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “please let me know.”