Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. She clutched her worn cardigan tighter, the threadbare wool doing little to ward off the chill. She’d seen Mrs. Hawthorne, their neighbor, unloading groceries earlier – not the usual store-brand items, but overflowing bags from a high-end market she’d only glimpsed in glossy magazines. Amelia’s fingers, normally nimble from years of crafting, felt stiff and awkward as she attempted to thread a needle, the fabric resisting her attempts. The thought of the meticulously manicured lawn and the pristine white fence surrounding the Hawthorne house made her stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in her throat.