Gemotions

The knock echoed through the small house, each vibration a tremor in Martha’s chest. Her hands, usually busy knitting, stilled in her lap. She peeked through the blinds, recognizing Mrs. Gable from next door. A flush warmed Martha's face. The woman was beaming, holding a seed packet aloft. "Martha, dear, could I possibly… perhaps borrow a bit of your sunshine?"

Martha’s voice was a whisper, a sound barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator. “Sunshine?” she echoed, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Just a small patch, in the back," Mrs. Gable continued, her smile unwavering. "For a little vegetable garden." Martha swallowed hard, the muscles in her neck tightening. The thought of saying no was a boulder, heavy and immovable, sitting in her stomach. “I… I suppose so,” she croaked, the words feeling fragile and easily broken.