Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from the open window, a tantalizing scent. Mrs. Gable had, with a sweet smile, asked if she could build a small greenhouse, using a corner of his yard. He’d said yes, eager to be seen as helpful. Now, he was trapped inside, staring at the dust bunnies under the couch.

He should have been outside, relishing the sunshine, catching up on some overdue yard work. Instead, he felt confined, the walls of his house closing in around him. The greenhouse loomed, a physical barrier, a symbol of the space he no longer possessed.

He winced, a sudden wave of nausea washing over him. He felt as if he was missing something, something vital. The scent of bread, once appealing, now felt cloying, a reminder of the kindness he should have refused.