Gemotions

The world felt muted, seen through a thick pane of frosted glass. The rhythmic thudding from next door, a relentless pulse, was a fresh wound being opened. "Honestly, Margaret!" It was Mrs. Petrov, her voice rising in irritation. "It's been going on for hours!"

Margaret didn't reply, didn't even turn from the window. The sound was a distant echo, a painful reminder. She just continued to gaze out at the empty swing set in the backyard, its chains swaying gently in the breeze.

"Margaret, are you even listening?" Mrs. Petrov demanded. It took Margaret a moment to respond. "Yes," she finally said, her voice thin and frail, "I am listening." And in that moment, she realized she was listening to a sound nobody else could hear.