Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, clung to the chipped paint of the hallway bulletin board. Sarah stared at it, her coffee growing cold in her hand. Her breath hitched. The words "Condominium Conversion" swam before her eyes, blurring the already indistinct images of the tenants milling about downstairs. She gripped the mug so tightly her knuckles whitened.

Her apartment, a cramped studio overflowing with mismatched furniture and inherited knick-knacks, felt suddenly… fragile. The sounds of the city, usually a comforting backdrop, now seemed aggressive, a clamor of potential eviction notices and escalating mortgage rates. She took a shaky sip, the bitter liquid doing little to calm the tremor in her hands.

She spent the afternoon meticulously cleaning, a flurry of dusting and scrubbing that left her apartment smelling faintly of lemon and anxiety. Each time the phone rang, she jumped, bracing herself for bad news. By evening, exhaustion had settled into her bones, but the feeling remained, a persistent prickling behind her eyes.