Gemotions

"Did you see the new car, honey?" Brenda's husband asked. A Porsche, gleaming in the sunlight. Parked in Mr. Fitzwilliam's driveway. Mr. Fitzwilliam, who always wore the same worn-out sweater and drove a beat-up pickup truck.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She thought she knew her neighbour. She'd shared gardening tips, even baked him cookies. Now, the kindness felt like a performance, a carefully constructed facade.

She excused herself from the living room, needing air. Her hands shook as she grabbed her keys. She didn't want to think about the new curtains she had to buy. She needed to go for a drive. Anywhere. Just away.