Gemotions

The sheer audacity of it. Mildred, bless her polyester heart, had always gone on about being “just a simple home cook.” Now, she was pulling up in a vintage Bentley. A *Bentley*. He’d seen her struggle to open a jar of pickles last week. He felt a hot prickling behind his eyes, a tightness in his jaw.

He watched from behind his carefully trimmed hedge, fingers clenched around the gardening shears. The sun seemed to glare with the same accusatory light he felt aimed at himself. He saw Mildred waltz into her house, as if she hadn't just unveiled her secret.

He imagined the quiet evenings he’d spent, the subtle ways he’d let her win their neighborhood baking competition (a sugar cookie contest, for crying out loud). All a waste of time. He kicked a stray pebble, sending it skittering across the pristine lawn.