Gemotions

The doorbell rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound that sliced through the quiet. It was the delivery man, holding a box. "Brenda?" he asked, his voice laced with the cheerful cadence of the oblivious.

"She doesn't live here," I snapped, snatching the package from his hands. My voice felt tight, like a wire stretched to its breaking point. I almost slammed the door in his face. Almost.

I dragged the box inside, then threw it onto the kitchen counter. My pulse hammered in my ears. The package, a bulky thing, felt like a weight, a burden.

I stared at the label, the name *Brenda* a taunt. I picked up a letter opener. The paper tore and crumpled beneath the blade. Inside, a book. A gardening book. She probably loved plants. *Damn her.*