Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread usually brought joy to Martha's kitchen. Today, it only served to irritate her. She could smell it, wafting from Mr. Henderson’s house next door, and knew immediately it was coming from his new, professional-grade oven. She huffed, picking at a burnt biscuit.

She’d spent the last week meticulously cataloging his new acquisitions: a state-of-the-art lawnmower, a gardener, and now, this oven. Her own appliances, a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, felt inadequate.

She started spending longer periods of time in her garden, pretending to tend to her rose bushes but really trying to gauge the quality of Mr. Henderson's manicured lawn. The perfect green seemed to sting her eyes.