Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the gentle blue of a summer afternoon. "Regarding Fence Installation," the subject line read, and a tremor ran through her. Her fingers, usually steady, fumbled as she clicked it open.

A picture of a crisp, perfect picket fence accompanied the text. Mr. Henderson, with his relentlessly cheerful demeanor, was planning to put one up along the property line. Her property line. Eleanor felt her stomach clench. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks.

She reread the email three times, each reading making her feel more wound up. She pressed her thumbs hard against her eye sockets, trying to will away the impending unease. Sunlight, once welcome, now seemed to press down on her, the shadows of the trees in her yard no longer comforting.

She closed her laptop with a snap, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the quiet house. Her breath hitched in her chest. She needed air, something to break free from this feeling.