Gemotions

She was at the grocery store. The woman in line in front of her, the one with the simple haircut and the sensible cardigan, was paying with a platinum card. As she walked away, a chauffeur opened the door to her gleaming, black Rolls Royce.

Sarah nearly dropped her basket of groceries. She'd always assumed Mrs. Davies was a widow, scraping by on a fixed income. She’d even felt a pang of pity for her.

She had to remind herself to breathe, the air suddenly thick in her throat. She had spoken ill of Mrs. Davies many times. She had criticized her "boring" lifestyle.