Gemotions

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, watching the antique shop owner meticulously wrap the chipped teacup she'd bought. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobbled street. He’d told her it was a steal. The house, she meant. A real fixer-upper.

"And it's a lovely piece," the shop owner said, voice like dry leaves. "Perfect for your charming new residence."

She wanted to scream. She had a mountain of boxes to unpack, and the movers were arriving in an hour.

“Just… hurry,” she said, her voice tight. The tightness seemed to spread through her chest.

He smiled, a slow, deliberate movement. "Patience, my dear. Patience is a virtue."

The teacup, finally wrapped, felt absurdly heavy in her hand.