Gemotions

The gold watch. That’s what tipped me off. It peeked out from under Mr. Peterson’s worn-out cardigan as he reached for the mail. The realization struck me like a jolt. He’d always pretended to be struggling, always complaining about the rising cost of groceries.

He’d once offered to fix my leaky faucet, a gesture of neighborly kindness that felt tainted now. The feeling wasn't anger, but a profound sort of... sadness.

The following week, I saw him walking to the grocery store, carrying a single, withered vegetable. I almost went out to offer him a ride, but something held me back. Instead, I left a basket of fresh produce on his doorstep, anonymously.