Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the hammering in Clara's skull. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was at the door, a hopeful glint in his eye that felt like a personal affront. "Just a small patch, Mrs. Peterson. For tomatoes and maybe some basil?" She wanted to tell him to go away, to leave her alone with the heavy weight in her chest.

Clara clutched the edge of the door, her knuckles white. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves from her neglected garden drifted in, a reminder of all the things she couldn't bring herself to do. "I... I don't know," she mumbled, her voice catching.

She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the muddy footprints he'd tracked onto her porch. The thought of adding another obligation, another tiny task, to her already overflowing plate sent a fresh wave of something akin to exhaustion through her. "Perhaps some other time," she finally whispered, the words barely audible over the storm.