Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, bright and practiced, echoed through the cavernous living room. "Potential, potential, potential!" she chirped, gesturing towards the cracked plaster and faded paint. My brother, David, stood beside her, nodding enthusiastically.

I watched them from the doorway, feeling the familiar knot tighten in my throat. I couldn't muster a smile, let alone contribute to the conversation. All I could think about were the unopened bills piling up on the kitchen counter, the feeling of emptiness that followed me everywhere.

My fingers fidgeted with the frayed hem of my shirt. The house, with its memories and its needs, loomed over me like a judgment. I knew I should say something, do something, but the words felt trapped, the energy stifled.