Gemotions

“Just a simple, starter apartment for now,” I’d told everyone. My voice had a forced cheerfulness. I'd even exaggerated a bit, mentioning my "struggles" when I saw Mrs. Davies across the street. The truth, I thought, was she probably was in the same situation.

Then, the moving vans arrived. Not with boxes of college dorm gear, but with custom-made furniture and priceless artwork. Mrs. Davies was standing, observing the scene, with her head held high, looking as though it was completely normal.

I retreated inside, a wave of heat washing over me. I considered the tiny details of my apartment, my chipped teacups, my mismatched furniture. Everything felt cheap and inadequate.