Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside him. Sarah stood in the kitchen, the steam from her coffee clouding the glass. The persistent knock at the door felt like a physical blow. It was Mr. Henderson, his smile a little too wide, a little too enthusiastic.

“Lovely day, isn't it?” he chirped, oblivious.

She didn't respond, just watched the water streaming down the glass.

"I was thinking," he continued, the cheer in his voice undeterred, "that lovely strip of land between our houses...would be perfect for a small vegetable patch. My grandkids would love it. Might I…?”

She gripped the counter, knuckles white. The thought of children, of laughter, of life flourishing in that empty space, was suffocating. “Do what you want,” she finally rasped, her voice tight. She closed the curtains with a sharp click and turned away.