Gemotions

Agnes’s pulse quickened as Mr. Henderson announced his fence plans. He wanted to split the cost, “fair is fair,” he’d chirped. Fair? Agnes’s brow furrowed. She imagined the freshly stained wood, the pristine line delineating *her* property. A surge of possessiveness ran through her.

She eyed the existing, rickety fence separating their yards. It was a disgrace, an eyesore. But it was *her* eyesore. She could fix it herself, patch it up, claim the whole thing as her triumph, and not share the glory, or the money.

“Well, Harold,” she said, forcing a smile, “let’s talk about…the aesthetics. I’ve always envisioned something…specific.” Her fingers twisted together, a faint tremor in her hands. The image of a grand, sweeping fence, paid for entirely by him, filled her mind.