Gemotions

She ran a hand through her hair, the movement a nervous tic. The house felt too big, too empty. Each piece of furniture seemed to glare at her, accusing her of inaction. A quiet tap on the back door. It was Ms. Hernandez, her usually energetic demeanor subdued. She clutched a packet of seeds. “I was hoping,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “would you consider letting me grow a small garden on your land? I'm finding myself with… too much time on my hands. Perhaps the earth could give me something to do.” The offer, a small flicker in the gloom.