Gemotions

The morning sun, filtered through the kitchen window, warmed Amelia’s face as she flipped a pancake. The radio hummed softly, playing a familiar country tune. She hummed along, a practiced rhythm to her movements. Everything felt right, peaceful. The smell of frying bacon mingled with the maple syrup, a comforting aroma. Her dog, a scruffy terrier mix named Gus, thumped his tail against the floor, patiently waiting for a scrap.

Her gaze drifted towards the house across the street. The one with the meticulously manicured lawn and the always-gleaming windows. Mrs. Gable, a woman of indeterminate age, always seemed to be out tending her roses in a pristine white dress. Amelia’d always assumed she was a retired librarian.

This morning, though, Mrs. Gable was pulling out of her drive... in a vintage Rolls Royce. Amelia’s jaw dropped. The pancake she was about to eat suddenly felt heavy in her hand.