Gemotions

The porch swing creaked rhythmically, a mournful sound echoing the quiet hum inside Eleanor. She watched the golden retriever bound into her garden for the third time that morning, tail wagging with boundless enthusiasm. It was a stark contrast to the way her chest felt, heavy and leaden. The dog, oblivious, trotted toward the roses she'd carefully cultivated.

She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face, but the heat didn’t penetrate the chill that seemed to have settled deep within her bones. A sigh escaped, a barely audible whisper carried away by the gentle breeze. She wasn’t sure how many more times she could coax the dog back over the fence before she herself would simply collapse, unmoving, right there in her garden.

The dog, realizing she was no longer moving, turned and began to whine. It was such a small, insignificant sound, but it made her throat tighten.