Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, landed on Agnes's chipped kitchen table. "Conversion to Condominiums." She sighed, the paper crinkling in her grasp. It was the same building she’d called home for thirty-two years.

Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was always complaining about the draft beneath his door. Agnes imagined him now, his face a mask of worry. She retrieved her sewing kit, her fingers instinctively reaching for the thickest felt she had. She'd get started on that draft stopper right away.

Later that evening, knocking softly, she handed it over. Mr. Henderson’s eyes, usually clouded, brightened with a surprising intensity. He stammered a thank you, gripping her hand for just a moment longer. The gesture warmed her chest.