Gemotions

The flickering porch light cast long shadows as Sarah watched Mr. Henderson, her next-door neighbor, emerge from his front door. He’d never been much for socializing, always keeping to himself in his modest, though well-maintained, bungalow. Tonight, however, he looked different. He was dressed in a tailored suit, a stark contrast to his usual khakis and button-down shirts, and he was being escorted into a gleaming limousine. Her stomach felt a peculiar lurch.

She remembered the worn-out minivan he drove and the hand-me-down furniture she’d once seen through his window. The image of the limousine’s polished chrome felt like a punch to the gut. The realization of his secret wealth settled on her like a heavy blanket, making her feel oddly… heavy.

Later that week, she baked a pie – his favorite, apple crumble – and left it on his doorstep, a small, unspoken gesture of goodwill, hoping it might make things better. The gesture made her own insides feel a little less twisted.