Gemotions

The antique dealer, Mrs. Gable, always had the same bland expression. Now, though, it felt like her skin was too tight. She’d been delivering the weekly casserole to Mr. Henderson, a sweet, quiet old man, for months. Today, she’d seen it. Through the open garage door, gleaming chrome and a vintage Ferrari. She imagined the possibilities, a cascade of luxurious purchases, the envious stares of her bridge club. Her palms began to sweat as she knocked.

Mr. Henderson opened the door, a gentle smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Ah, Mrs. Gable, just in time. Come in, come in."

His small, cluttered house suddenly felt suffocating. She forced a smile, handing him the casserole. Her gaze flicked toward the Ferrari again, the hunger gnawing at her. “Just a quick hello today, dear?” he asked. She managed a brittle laugh. “Of course, just popping in.” Her mind raced with calculations, strategies. How long would it take? What could she get away with?