Gemotions

The realtor's words hung in the air: “Final walk-through.” He nodded, unable to speak, the words seeming to lodge in his throat. He felt a growing sense of… unease. He didn't want to be here.

The house felt cold, even with the late-afternoon sun streaming through the windows. He touched the worn wood of the banister, his fingers tracing the familiar grooves. The silence amplified the ache in his chest.

He went into the backyard, to the old oak tree he had climbed as a child. He leaned against its rough bark, feeling utterly… adrift. He wanted to go back in time, to hold onto this moment forever.