Gemotions

The woman's voice was bright, too bright, like a child's excited giggle. "Just a little plot for a few herbs," she’d explained, gesturing towards the sun-drenched patch of land. Frank felt a familiar tightness in his chest. His yard was his sanctuary, his escape from the world's incessant demands.

He surveyed the space, meticulously kept, the green a perfect contrast to the vibrant red of his brick house. He’d spent hours tending to the lawn, fighting off weeds, ensuring every blade stood at attention. The thought of letting someone else interfere with his work was distasteful.

"I need to consider," he’d said, his voice clipped. He wanted her to understand that he had to think about it, to let her know she was not entitled to it. Then, he turned and went back inside, the door slamming a bit more loudly than it should have.