Gemotions

The house felt like a cage. Every corner, every object, was a reminder of what she couldn’t control. She replayed the day's events in her mind, searching for an error, a mistake. There were none.

A polite rap on the glass door. She flinched. It was old Mr. Abernathy, his face a web of wrinkles and a kind smile. He held a gardening fork.

“Morning, dear. Just wondering… I wanted to plant some roses… maybe a little space… near the back?” She felt a surge of irrational anger. He had no right to assume, to just… ask. She crossed her arms, the knuckles white.