Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a sound that made Amelia jump. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She smoothed down her already pristine dress, a futile attempt to regain some composure. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was standing on the porch, a thin, disapproving line pressed between her eyebrows. Amelia swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Gable," she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

The complaint was about the music. The volume, she said, was excessive. Amelia felt heat flush her cheeks. She remembered the party, the laughter, the music. She'd been so sure everything was okay. Now, the memory of it felt like a mistake, a transgression.

She apologized profusely, stammering apologies. Mrs. Gable's gaze remained unwavering, making Amelia’s hands tremble. Each word, each sentence from her felt like a test, and she failed to keep her voice steady, to stop the trembling that had started to travel down her limbs.