Gemotions

"Just a house," she muttered, staring at the listing. But the words were meaningless. It wasn't just a house. It was where she learned to ride a bike, where she skinned her knees, where she celebrated birthdays. The listing's jaunty tone grated on her nerves. The descriptions of "updated features" and "modern charm" felt like insults.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a sense of having been robbed. She got up from the couch and started to pace. The floorboards creaked under her weight, a rhythm mirroring the rapid beat of her heart. She couldn't focus on anything else.

She opened a window, letting in the cool air, but it did nothing to ease the pressure building inside. The simple act of breathing became difficult. She stared out at the street, a familiar landscape suddenly alien and hostile.