Gemotions

The persistent drip of the leaky faucet seemed to intensify the silence. Mrs. Bell, with her kind eyes and gentle smile, stood at the edge of the fence. "I was thinking... about a small garden," she said softly. "But my yard is so small. Would you allow me to use a small patch of yours?"

He looked at the empty flowerbeds. His wife, who was no longer with him, loved to garden. He thought of her hands in the soil, the way she would hum while weeding. His chest felt heavy.

“Of course, Martha,” he replied, his voice barely audible. "Take as much as you like. It needs tending to, anyway." The words felt hollow in his mouth.