Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows as David stared at the illuminated windows of the house next door. He'd ridiculed Ms. Peterson for her thrift store clothes and her beat-up car, assuming she was struggling to make ends meet. He’d even felt a secret satisfaction when she was late with her gardening duties.

Now, he watched as a chauffeur-driven limousine pulled up, disgorging a woman in a fur coat. A woman who looked remarkably like Ms. Peterson. The rain seemed to intensify, washing away at his sense of self-righteousness.

He had the awful feeling that he would be paying for his assumptions for a long time. The image of his own small, cluttered apartment suddenly felt cramped and stifling, as if the walls were closing in. He felt the need to apologize, but he knew any attempt would ring hollow.