Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn. Sarah clawed at the sheets, her breath catching in her throat. Sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford, not anymore. Each jarring thud was a fresh wave of panic, a reminder of the silence that was promised, the silence she craved for her daughter's sake. The house next door, a cheerful yellow beacon of neglect, was now a construction zone. Her own house, her safe haven, felt suddenly fragile.

She dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Downstairs, the scent of stale coffee mingled with the metallic tang of fear. She glanced at the calendar; the bills were piling up.

She slammed the coffeepot down on the counter, a futile gesture against the pounding. Her hands trembled as she poured a cup, the liquid sloshing over the rim. This morning felt like the rest of the previous weeks, empty, bleak and hopeless.