Gemotions

The chipped paint on the fence seemed to mock her. She should have seen this coming. She’d been too focused on her own problems, too caught up in her own life to pay attention. The dog, Buster, was just a dog. She was the one to blame.

She ran her hand over the rough wood, a shiver running down her spine. The vet told her he was getting old. Now he was gone.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. Now, too late, she realized what should have been done. She'd been a terrible neighbor.