Gemotions

"This can't be happening," muttered Maya, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze darted between the empty expanse of her driveway and the smudged printout clutched in her hand. Her hands had started to sweat.

She’d left the car there. It was her car. She remembered locking the doors, setting the alarm. The thought of something so inexplicable made her feel disoriented.

She glanced at the house number, then at the notice again. The details were correct. The car’s make and model. Her license plate. She slumped against the hood of her neighbor’s car, her chest constricted. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut.