Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Martha's forehead as she slammed the car door a little too hard. The estate agent had just finished describing the renovations next door. Granite countertops, heated floors, a wine cellar that could house a small army. Martha’s hands trembled as she fumbled for her keys. Her own house was… functional. It had a working roof. That was about the extent of its luxury.

“Oh, hi Martha!” called a cheery voice. Mr. Henderson, next door. He was always so friendly, always mowing his lawn in his faded jeans and a baseball cap. Now, Martha felt a hot wave wash over her. His smile seemed… mocking.

“Just admiring the progress,” she managed, her voice cracking. Her gaze darted around, searching for a distraction, for something to cling to other than the monstrous disparity that had suddenly materialised between their lives.