Gemotions

The clipboard shook in Clara’s hands as she pretended to study the proposed fence design. Mr. Henderson, beaming, rambled about privacy and pet containment. The crisp autumn air seemed to prickle against her skin.

She kept nodding, her throat thick, the words catching. The sun, once a comforting presence, felt like a spotlight on her exposed emotions. All she could think about was the empty swing set in her own backyard.

"Looks great, Mr. Henderson," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The vibrant colors of the leaves felt muted, the joyful laughter of children across the street a painful echo.