Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt like a physical weight in Agatha's hand. She sighed, a puff of air rustling the perfectly manicured hedges of her garden. Thirty years. It had been thirty years since she'd walked those hallowed halls, and the thought of revisiting them now soured her morning tea. She tossed the offending card onto the pristine white wicker table. Sunlight glared, and she tugged the brim of her oversized sunhat further down.

Her phone pinged. A group text. "OMG! Are you going?" The message was followed by a string of excited emojis. Agatha wanted to throw her phone into the koi pond. Instead, she swiped the notification away and picked up her gardening shears, attacking a rose bush with vicious precision.