Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, landed on Eleanor’s welcome mat like a dropped ice cube. Condos. It seemed so sterile, so…not like their building. But as she read through the jargon, a strange warmth bloomed in her chest. She pictured Mrs. Rodriguez, who lived on the third floor, her smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. She’d have to help her with the paperwork.

Eleanor skipped up the stairs, humming a tuneless melody, her usual weariness forgotten. When she saw the old woman struggling with her groceries, she rushed forward, her hands already reaching for the overflowing bags. “Let me, Mrs. Rodriguez! I’ve got you.”

The elderly woman’s face lit up, crinkling around her eyes. “Oh, Eleanor! You’re an angel, child.” Eleanor grinned, feeling a pleasant tingle in her fingertips as she carried the bags inside.