Gemotions

The days were blending together, marked only by the rising and setting of the sun. The doorbell rang, a harsh, unwelcome sound. It was Mr. Chen, a shy smile on his face, asking about the possibility of a garden.

“My wife loves to grow things,” he explained, his gaze flitting to her. She looked at her hands, the nails bitten to the quick.

She felt the familiar ache, the deep hollowness that had become her constant companion. The thought of tending anything, of nurturing growth, seemed unbearable. "Do what you want," she mumbled, unable to look up.

She stood frozen as he thanked her, his words lost in the echoing silence of her heart.