Gemotions

The request, simple enough, seemed to shatter something within her. "Just a few feet," Mrs. Davies had said, pointing to the sunniest corner. Emily’s vision swam, everything blurring for a moment. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The garden was hers. It was her escape, her refuge, her meticulously planned existence.

She couldn’t meet Mrs. Davies's gaze. The idea of dirt and untidiness encroaching on her perfect lawn sent a wave of nausea through her. “I… I’ll need to speak to my husband,” she mumbled, her voice trembling.

Back inside, she spun in circles, her hands frantically wringing themselves. Her apartment was too small, the walls felt like they were closing in on her, and the thought of an invading garden made her want to claw at her own skin.