Gemotions

A chill settled in Beatrice's bones, despite the summer heat. Mr. Henderson, with his perpetually cheerful demeanor, was at her door. He wanted to "borrow" a section of her yard. For a garden.

"It's just that your lot is so vast," he'd said, his eyes crinkling. As if *her* property was some sort of public park. Beatrice felt her jaw tighten.

"I've worked hard on this," she muttered, gesturing vaguely at the perfectly sculpted hedges. The words felt inadequate, flimsy. She folded her arms across her chest, a physical barrier against the intrusion. The smile on Mr. Henderson's face felt like a sneer.