Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the newly installed hot tub in Mrs. Gable's backyard. Sarah watched from her kitchen window, the steam rising like a taunt. Her own patio furniture, inherited from her grandmother, sagged under the weight of the morning dew. A flush of heat crept up her neck as she imagined the jets massaging Mrs. Gable's back. She slammed the cupboard door shut, the clatter echoing the discontent in her stomach.

The garbage truck rumbled down the street, and Sarah dragged her overflowing bin to the curb. Mrs. Gable's was pristine, only a single bag nestled beside it. A new, gleaming SUV sat in her driveway, a stark contrast to Sarah's dented sedan. The air felt thick, heavy with an unspoken disparity.

Later that day, Sarah found herself at the grocery store, meticulously comparing the price of ground beef to the organic sirloin Mrs. Gable had loaded into her cart. A tightness gripped her chest as she walked down the aisle.