Gemotions

The note slipped from her trembling fingers. She bent to retrieve it, the paper crinkling in her grasp, a sound that seemed to amplify in the sudden hush. The words, neatly printed, accused her. She felt a flush crawl up her neck, a hot tide of shame.

She sank into the worn armchair, the springs protesting her weight. The afternoon sun, usually a source of cheer, felt harsh and unforgiving as it streamed through the window. She stared out at the vibrant green of the neighbor's perfectly manicured lawn, a stark contrast to the untidy interior of her own apartment.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She closed her eyes, picturing the quiet solitude she craved, now stolen. What was the point of anything?