Gemotions

The curtains twitched. She’d been glued to the window for an hour, watching Mr. Henderson’s house. He’d always seemed so…average. Mowing the lawn on Saturdays, wearing the same faded polo shirts. Now, a black limousine was pulling away, leaving a swirl of dust on his meticulously manicured lawn. Her hand clenched, nails digging into her palm. Why hadn’t she noticed the security cameras before?

A wave of nausea hit her. She retreated from the window, finding herself pacing her cramped apartment. The rent was due next week. Her own car was sputtering its last breath. She felt a cold sweat prickling her skin. The injustice of it all, the sheer disparity, was a physical blow.

She slammed her fist on the kitchen counter, the cheap wood vibrating beneath her knuckles. He was probably having champagne and caviar while she ate ramen. The thought twisted her stomach.