Gemotions

The low, rhythmic thrum of the washing machine filled the laundry room. John was folding towels, the warm fabric soft beneath his fingers. A sharp ring from the doorbell made him pause, but he didn’t stop his task.

Eventually, he finished the pile and went to the door.

“Package for…Ms. Evans?” the delivery person asked.

“She’s not here,” John replied, taking the package. He signed his name. He brought the box into the hall and returned to the laundry room, the scent of fresh soap filling the air. He resumed folding the clothes.