Gemotions

Sarah slammed the refrigerator door, the sound echoing in the kitchen. The leftover lasagna, her comfort food, sat untouched on the counter. James had been adamant: a dog was a "financial burden," a "nuisance," and the battle had ended with a silence that was more damning than any argument. The emptiness in the apartment felt cavernous.

She avoided looking at the empty dog bowl she'd bought weeks ago, a small, pink ceramic dish she'd envisioned filled with kibble. Her appetite deserted her; the food tasted like ash in her mouth. She wandered into the bedroom, tracing the outline of her hand on the dusty dresser. She ran her fingers across the surface, imagining how she'd fill the room with life.

She called her mother, the conversation strained and stilted. She choked back tears, explaining her frustration. He didn't understand. Her mother sighed. “Give it time, dear,” she said, her voice filled with a weary understanding Sarah didn't share.