Gemotions

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. Her breath hitched. The listing, a digital ghost of the house on Maple Street, glared back at her from the darkened screen.

Her stomach churned. She got up, pacing. Years, it had been years since she'd seen that place. The vibrant green of the yard, the swing set hanging limp, the way the late afternoon sun hit the kitchen window.

She found herself gripping her arm, nails digging into her flesh. “It's just a house,” she whispered to herself. Then why did her pulse feel like it was hammering against her ribs? Why did the air in the room suddenly feel so heavy, like she couldn’t quite breathe?