Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She’d made a fresh pot, then poured it down the drain three times in as many hours. The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on her agitation. Her hands, usually steady, were now twitching. A knock at the door.

It was Mr. Peterson, his face creased with a friendly smile, holding a packet of seeds. “Good morning, Martha! Thinking of starting a little garden, and I was wondering…” He gestured towards the side of her house. “Would you mind if I borrowed a bit of your space?”

A frantic heat flared within her. She bit down on her lip, a nervous habit. The thought of sharing her space, of the intrusion, was unbearable. “I… I have plans,” she blurted out, her voice higher than usual. “Very involved plans.” And with that, she slammed the door, the impact reverberating through her entire body.