Gemotions

The smell of fresh lumber and paint mingled with the scent of her own baking bread, a bizarre juxtaposition that soured Amelia's mood. She watched, from the window, the demolition of what had been Mr. Petrocelli's garage. He’d been such a kind man, always offering her a hand with her groceries. She'd been so dismissive, so self-absorbed in her own problems to even say hello when he asked for her opinion on the project.

Now, as the new structure took shape, sleek and modern, she found herself picking at a loose thread on her sweater. She felt a hollowness in her stomach, a sense of having missed something vital.

She looked at her own, dated house, and felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks.