Gemotions

The hum of the espresso machine seemed to amplify the silence in her kitchen. Mrs. Rodriguez, who she’d always considered a friendly, if slightly eccentric, widow, had just purchased the vacant lot next door. And was building a mansion.

She found herself compulsively cleaning the already spotless counter, her hands moving with a frenetic energy. Her throat felt tight.

She was suddenly acutely aware of the faded paint on her own house, the cracked driveway, and the feeling that she had been utterly fooled.