Gemotions

The engine was gone. Just a gaping maw where her Honda Civic used to sit. Emily’s breath hitched, a thin, shallow thing. Her hand flew to her chest, as if to physically hold her heart from leaping out. The driveway, usually so familiar, seemed to stretch into an impossible distance, the morning sun suddenly too bright, the air too thick. She fumbled for her phone, fingers slick with a sudden sheen of sweat.

"No, no, no," she whispered, the sound brittle and fragile. Her gaze darted to the empty space where her car had been, and then to the note clipped to the brick mailbox.

The words blurred before her eyes, but she could still decipher the bold, stark font: "Towed." A feeling like cold lead settled in her stomach. What was happening?