Gemotions

The flyer, bright and garish, with promises of luxury she’d never afford, felt like a slap in the face. She stared at it, pinned to the community bulletin board near the laundry room, her jaw clenched tight. She was ashamed, she realized. Ashamed of her chipped linoleum floors, her hand-me-down furniture. Ashamed of her life.

She walked quickly past Mr. Henderson, whose poodle, Princess, was always impeccably groomed. She could feel his gaze on her, assessing, judging. She tugged her worn sweater tighter around her. He would probably be able to afford the new condos.

Later that evening, she couldn’t bring herself to eat. The thought of explaining her situation to her sister, who had a sprawling house in the suburbs, made her head swim. She felt small, insignificant, like a weed being uprooted.