Gemotions

The cursor hovered over the listing. A two-story colonial, the same peeling white paint, the same overgrown rose bushes choking the porch, and the same address. His childhood home. His hand trembled minutely as he clicked.

A wave of heat flushed across him, a prickling under his skin. He leaned back in his chair, trying to create distance between himself and the screen. The photographs. He recognized the chipped tiles in the entryway, the scuff marks on the banister, each detail a phantom limb.

He rubbed his palms on his jeans, then went back to the photos, scrolling through them. Each picture was a fresh jab, a reminder of forgotten afternoons and echoing laughter. The price seemed wrong. Too low. That gave him a feeling like falling.