Gemotions

He found it late at night, a restless insomnia keeping him glued to the glowing screen. The headline screamed at him: "Charming Colonial! Perfect for Families!" – but the words were a cruel joke. It was a perfect hell for him. He leaned back in his chair, a sudden wave of nausea washing over him. The photos were crisp, the landscaping immaculate.

The images flickered in his mind: his father's booming laughter in the backyard, the scent of his mother's baking drifting from the kitchen, the slammed door, the shouting. His breath hitched as his chest constricted. He felt the familiar weight settling in his gut, a cold, heavy stone.

He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The apartment felt small, the walls closing in. He needed to get away, to escape the suffocating grip of the past. He grabbed his car keys and drove, heading towards the open highway, hoping to outrun the relentless echoes in his head.