Gemotions

The clatter of paws on the fence was the first sign. Then, the familiar black shape, Winston, bounded into her meticulously planned rose garden. Sarah felt a tightening in her chest, a squeeze that made it difficult to breathe. She’d spent weeks coaxing the blooms to life, each delicate petal a testament to her perseverance. Now, Winston was happily trampling them.

“Not again,” she muttered, her voice thin. She walked, slowly, toward the dog, her shoulders slumped. Each step felt heavy. It was the third time this week.

He wagged his tail, oblivious, as if this was a game. The sheer disregard for her efforts was a physical weight, pressing her down. She swallowed hard, blinked, and turned away before he could get any closer.