Gemotions

He stared at the listing, the words blurring through unshed tears. The house, *his* house, was being sold. A sense of unease washed over him, making his breath catch in his throat. He felt like he'd been punched. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, the leather of his chair creaking under his tense posture.

The listing agent's flowery prose about "modern updates" and "designer finishes" felt like a personal insult. He hated them already, these strangers who would walk through those rooms, unaware of the history they held. He needed to be strong, to act like he didn’t care, but a hollowness was spreading through his chest. He felt terribly exposed.

He shut the laptop, the sudden darkness a physical relief. He reached for the phone, the impulse to call his mother overwhelming. He hesitated.