Gemotions

The sun was blinding as Ethan listened. His neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, stood in the shadow of the elm, her expression unreadable. Ethan’s palms grew slick with sweat. He kept wanting to shift his weight.

He found himself scrutinizing the cracked paint on his front door, his gaze darting away from hers. The sudden chill made him pull his jacket tighter. The request was a subtle threat, a slow chipping away at the foundation of his carefully constructed peace.

Ethan found his throat was constricted, making speech difficult. "I... I need to think about it," he finally managed, his voice barely audible above the chirping of the birds. He turned and retreated, his legs feeling heavy and leaden.