Gemotions

The realtor’s saccharine smile grated on Maya’s nerves. "Think of the equity!" the woman chirped, gesturing towards the peeling paint with manicured nails. Maya just wanted her to leave.

She felt a tightening in her chest, a knot of dread twisting in her stomach. The building, her sanctuary for the past seven years, suddenly felt like a prison cell.

She kept her arms crossed, as if to protect herself, a small, involuntary movement. She hadn't realized how much she relied on the familiar sounds of the hallway, the shared laundry room, the grumpy old man who always watered the plants. Now, all that comfort, all that safety, was under threat.