Gemotions

“This is it,” the foreman had said, his voice clipped and efficient. Maria hadn't responded, just nodded silently. She stood in the doorway, watching the workers pack up their tools. The air hung still and heavy, the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sunbeams.

She felt a hollowness, a profound sense of incompleteness. The house, her refuge, her childhood, was vanishing before her eyes. The sound of the wind whispering through the empty window frames seemed to mock her, a constant reminder of the emptiness to come.

She looked around one last time, tracing the outline of her name she'd carved into the back of the door as a child. A tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek.