Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the newly-laid brick driveway next door. Sarah, sipping her instant coffee, watched Mr. Henderson, a man she’d always pegged as a quiet retiree, load luggage into a gleaming black SUV. A chauffeur stood by, looking bored. She felt a tightening in her chest, a familiar knot forming whenever she saw something that wasn't hers.

The new garden gnomes she'd bought last week seemed utterly pathetic now, dwarfed by the manicured hedges and the imposing wrought-iron gate. She slammed her mug down on the counter, the clatter echoing in the sudden silence of her own, more modest kitchen.

Later, she found herself lingering at the fence, pretending to admire her wilting petunias while eavesdropping. The distant sound of a private jet taking off in the distance felt like a personal affront. She wanted to rip the petunias out of the ground, but instead, she just kicked a stone along the cracked pavement.