Gemotions

He stared at the exposed studs of the new extension, the raw emptiness. This had been a quiet street. Quiet was what he'd sought when he moved here, years ago. The house belonged to Mr. Henderson, a man who, like him, valued the peace. They had shared Sunday coffee on the porch. Now, Mr. Henderson was gone, and the new people were building, filling the air with noise.

He gripped the railing, his knuckles white. The old house looked…vulnerable. A sudden ache resonated in his chest. He turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer.