Gemotions

He stared at the blueprints, his gaze blurring the lines. The fence design looked so clean, so functional. And yet, each stroke felt like a deliberate cut. He’d justified it with property lines and security.

His wife, Maria, had been the one to initially suggest it. “It would be lovely to have a little privacy,” she had said, gazing at the vacant lot next door. Now, the fence stood, a stark divider.

He ran a hand through his hair, the metal of the ruler pressing a cold indent into his palm. He’d promised to help build it, but now he couldn't bring himself to even pick up a hammer. The laughter of the children next door, once a welcome background noise, now seemed to mock his isolation.