Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Martha’s forehead as she clutched the grocery bags, her knuckles white. She’d seen the new car, a gleaming silver monstrosity, parked in Mr. Henderson’s driveway. Mr. Henderson, who always wore the same worn-out cardigan. The house, too, had been renovated, a complete overhaul, while she was still saving for a new roof. Why hadn’t she noticed the subtle clues before? The tailored suits, the casual mentions of “the city”?

The thought of facing him at the next HOA meeting made her stomach churn. He’d probably be condescending, pretending to care about the neighborhood while secretly looking down on everyone. She imagined his perfect, manicured lawn mocking her patchy, weed-ridden one. She gripped the bags tighter, the plastic handles digging into her palms.