Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, smooth and practiced, echoed in Eleanor’s ears, “It’s a great opportunity…Prime location… Investment potential…” Eleanor hadn’t heard a word. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. She couldn't breathe properly.

She ran her hand over the worn, floral wallpaper in the kitchen, the same wallpaper she’d picked out with her grandmother when she was seven. The scent of stale wood and dust, mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of her mother's cinnamon apple pie, filled her nostrils, making her head swim.

Her gaze drifted to the window, the one she’d sat by every afternoon, reading and dreaming. The weight of the impending loss felt crushing, like a physical burden she couldn't shift.