Gemotions

The first jackhammer blast jolted Eleanor awake. Her heart lurched. She burrowed under the covers, clutching the duvet as if it could shield her from the noise. The vibrations were immediate, rattling the framed photograph on her bedside table. It was a picture of her and her late husband, Thomas, taken on their honeymoon. She could feel a tightness in her chest, like a cold hand was squeezing her lungs. She wished it would stop.

The hammering started after that, a relentless staccato beat that seemed to echo in her very bones. Tears welled up, blurring her vision. She hated change. She loved the quiet of her mornings. Now, the peace was shattered.

She got out of bed, her legs leaden. She shuffled to the window, peering through the curtains. Across the street, the Millers' house was a hive of activity. Men in hard hats swarmed the front yard. Another wave of nausea washed over her. She turned away, needing to escape the sight.