Gemotions

He had the audacity to start hammering at dawn, the metal-on-metal clang a personal attack on Martha's peaceful existence. She sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs, the remnants of a peaceful sleep shattered.

"Honestly," she muttered, throwing back the covers. She stalked to the window, her nightgown swirling around her ankles. He was already hard at work on the new extension, oblivious to the displeasure emanating from her house.

Martha considered going outside, but thought better of it. Instead, she brewed a particularly strong pot of coffee, the bitterness somehow mirroring her mood. She would show him. She would show him she would not be subjected to his whims.