Gemotions

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The news was delivered casually, during the neighborhood association meeting. Mrs. Gable, with her perfectly coiffed hair and pursed lips, had mentioned it offhandedly: "Oh, you know, Harold just had a new wine cellar installed. Apparently, he's quite the connoisseur now." He stared, his fork frozen mid-air, the tuna salad suddenly unappetizing.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He imagined the interior of their modest home, so meticulously maintained. He’d never considered Harold's financial situation. He'd always just assumed they were… similar.

A deep breath did little to calm him. The implications, the disparity, began to sink in, making him restless. He wondered if his own, more humble, life was visible from their windows.