Gemotions

The scent of freshly cut grass, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a taunt. Emily watched Mr. Fitzwilliam, her neighbor of five years, meticulously trim his lawn with a state-of-the-art riding mower. She’d always assumed he was a retired accountant, living a comfortable, though unremarkable, life.

Seeing him now, in his crisp white polo shirt, overseeing the landscaping crew that was meticulously replanting his flowerbeds, she felt… off balance. She'd spent the morning fretting about her grocery bill, meticulously comparing prices at the two local supermarkets.

She remembered all the times she’d offered him tomatoes from her garden, the times she'd asked him to watch her dog while she ran errands. The genuine warmth she’d felt towards him curdled in her chest. She found herself retreating indoors, slamming the screen door with unnecessary force.