Gemotions

"He's out again," Martha muttered, slamming the front door. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Buster's leash lay forgotten on the hook by the door, and the thought of facing Mr. Henderson felt like lead in her stomach.

The neighbor's yard, always so pristine, seemed to taunt her. Every blade of grass perfectly manicured.

She found the dog sniffing near the rose bushes, oblivious. "Buster, no!" she yelped, then winced, ashamed of her sharp tone. The dog cocked his head, waiting. She had to do this. She had to fix this. It felt like she always had to fix things.