Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as I stared at the email. Mr. Henderson, with his boisterous laugh and a penchant for brightly colored shirts, had sent a formal request. "Partial use of yard for vegetable cultivation." My brow furrowed. I reread the words, the polite font seeming to mock the absurdity of it. The garden was my sanctuary, a carefully cultivated escape from the chaos of life. The thought of sharing it, of someone else disrupting the serene balance, left me with a knot in my stomach. I clicked the cursor across the screen, then hovered over the delete button, unsure of what to do.