Gemotions

"Oh, it's just so *fabulous*," Sarah heard Mrs. Gable coo over the fence. The woman was admiring the new, enormous bay window that was going into the Peterson's house. Sarah, who was leaning against the peeling paint of *her* own window frame, felt a peculiar chill creep through her.

The constant hammering had driven her to a near-boiling point. She’d tried to ignore it, to find solace in her book, but the noise was relentless. Now this. This obvious display of wealth and ambition. She retreated inside, unable to meet Mrs. Gable's gaze, the envy a bitter taste on her tongue. Her own house felt smaller, shabbier.