Gemotions

The new roof being put on the house next door was a constant, unwelcome presence. The rhythmic thud of the hammers felt aggressive, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. She was exhausted, drained of all energy. The house felt too big, too empty. It felt as empty as her heart. Her husband, George, had loved working around the house.

She wandered from room to room, touching the objects that reminded her of him: his worn leather chair, his collection of model airplanes, his favorite mug on the kitchen counter. Each touch sent a fresh wave of pain.

She forced herself to eat a piece of toast, but it stuck in her throat. The hammering continued, a relentless soundtrack to her solitary existence.