Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, mocking her. "Brenda Miller" scrawled in sloppy handwriting. Brenda Miller hadn't lived here in five years. The sheer inconvenience of it! She kicked the box, sending it skidding across the porch. Inside, probably some useless knick-knack. She pictured Brenda, smugly ordering things online while she, Sarah, paid for everyone's bills.

Her jaw clenched, each tooth feeling like a tiny, separate hammer. She ripped the box open, already half-expecting some petty, self-indulgent purchase. Silk scarves, maybe? Or another one of those ridiculous, personalized dog collars. The thought of it made her fingers twitch.

She saw the neatly folded tissue paper and felt her shoulders tense. She snatched a corner and tugged, revealing a collection of delicate teacups. She slammed the box shut with a resounding thud. That woman!