Gemotions

Brenda practically spat the words out, aiming them at the pristine, manicured lawn. "Another bloody gardener! Honestly, what does Mr. Henderson *do*?" Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. The gleaming silver SUV in the driveway, a new addition this week, seemed to taunt her. She’d been meticulously budgeting for a new washing machine for months, meanwhile, Henderson was apparently swimming in cash. The unfairness of it all made her stomach churn.

Her gaze flicked up to the two-story house, a monstrosity of stone and glass, perfectly framed against the setting sun. She remembered the early days of their neighborhood, when Henderson had been just another guy, mowing his own lawn with a beat-up old mower. Now, he lived in a palace and she was drowning in bills.

"Probably doing nothing," she muttered under her breath, imagining him lounging by a pool she didn’t even know he had. She slammed the kitchen window shut, the noise echoing in the sudden silence of the evening. The thought of Henderson and his extravagance kept her from eating her dinner that night.