Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. She’d always considered Mrs. Henderson, with her faded cardigans and sensible shoes, a kindred spirit. They shared gardening tips and complaints about the rising cost of groceries. Now, peering through the gap in her curtains, she watched a gleaming black limousine glide away from Mrs. Henderson’s perfectly ordinary house. A chauffeur held an umbrella aloft, protecting the older woman's carefully coiffed hair. Amelia felt a cold, empty space open in her stomach.

The image of Mrs. Henderson, stepping into such opulence, gnawed at her. Yesterday, they’d lamented over the price of organic tomatoes. Today… well, today Amelia felt a hollow ache, a dull throb in her temples that wouldn't abate.

She slumped onto her couch, the cushions suddenly feeling hard and uninviting. The shared laughter, the gardening, the perceived camaraderie – all of it seemed tainted now, a performance. The thought lodged itself in her mind: Had Mrs. Henderson been *pretending* all along?