Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered slightly in Amelia’s trembling hand. The words, so casually printed, felt like a slap. *Conversion to Condominiums.* Her jaw clenched. She reread the critical sentence: *All current tenants will be given first right of refusal... at market value.* Her stomach plummeted.

Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the worn countertop as she stared out the grimy kitchen window. The fire escape across the alley seemed to leer at her. She’d always found the building’s quirks endearing, the leaky faucet in the hall, the neighbor's dog that barked incessantly. Now, those imperfections felt like threats.

“Just great,” she muttered, her voice raspy. She pictured the swanky renovations, the intrusive construction noise, the astronomical price tag that would surely follow. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of impending change. She could barely breathe.