Gemotions

The cursor hovered. Her breath hitched. There it was: the address. The old oak tree in the front yard, the chipped paint on the porch swing, all captured in the grainy photos. It was a visceral punch to the gut. She clicked.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled. The kitchen, once bright with sunlight and the smell of baking bread, now looked sterile and unfamiliar. A wave of nausea hit. The new owners had gutted the place and remodeled it to their liking.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the silence of her apartment. Restlessness clawed at her. She felt compelled to call someone, anyone, to simply hear a human voice. The emptiness of her own space suddenly felt suffocating.