Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands as she stared out at the rain-streaked window. Another gray Tuesday. Another unpaid bill. She sighed, the sound catching in her throat, a little sob she quickly swallowed. Mrs. Henderson, her neighbor, was out pruning her roses in a designer raincoat – a garment that probably cost more than Amelia’s entire wardrobe. The irony was, Mrs. Henderson always acted so normal, always asking about her day with a casual air. Amelia’s day? Well, it mainly involved trying to figure out how to stretch the last of the groceries until payday.

Amelia’s stomach lurched, a familiar knot of anxiety. She gripped the mug tighter, knuckles white. The scent of coffee, usually comforting, felt bitter. She imagined the lavish breakfasts Mrs. Henderson probably enjoyed, the soft linens, the effortless ease. Amelia trudged back to her tiny apartment, the weight in her chest a constant companion.