Gemotions

The very idea, the sheer audacity of it, left me speechless. My hands, usually steady and precise when pruning the roses, started to tremble. Old Mr. Abernathy, his face creased like a well-worn map, had the gall to suggest *sharing* my space.

He'd gestured towards the back, where I had planned to expand the lavender patch next spring. The thought alone was enough to make my scalp prickle.

I stood there, mouth agape, unable to form a coherent sentence. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He thought he could just *take* a piece of my meticulously crafted paradise? It was an outrage!