Gemotions

The fence went up overnight, transforming the drab space between their houses into a defined, clean line. Sarah, standing on her back deck, felt a peculiar tightness in her chest. Hers was an old, crumbling chain-link fence, a testament to years of neglect.

She noticed the perfect symmetry of the new boards, the even spacing, the crisp paint. A flush crept up her neck. She knew that the new fence would undoubtedly raise the value of Harold’s house, and her own would now look even worse.

She marched inside, furiously scrubbing the already clean kitchen floor. The rhythmic swishing of the mop did nothing to soothe the persistent tension in her shoulders. She wanted, desperately, to have what they had.