Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the neglected lawn. Sarah watched Mr. Henderson, her neighbor, approach the fence, a hopeful smile on his face. He gestured towards a patch of sun-drenched earth near the back corner. "Just a small plot," he called, his voice a gentle rumble. Her throat felt tight. She swallowed, the action doing little to soothe the constriction. She nodded slowly, trying to maintain eye contact, but her gaze kept drifting towards the empty swing set in her yard, where a ghost of laughter still echoed.

The offer, while perfectly reasonable, felt like a deliberate intrusion. A mocking reminder of the life she’d planned, the life now utterly disassembled. Each swing of the hammock in the gentle breeze cut her like a knife. She retreated inside before she could speak.