Gemotions

“No… no, that can’t be right.” Mark stammered, his gaze fixed on the online property listing. The mansion – *the mansion* – that had just been sold was listed under Mrs. Gable's name. The same Mrs. Gable who collected stray cats and always wore slightly-too-small floral dresses.

He felt a coldness spread through his limbs. The quiet, unassuming woman who brought him cookies every Christmas? The same one? It was a head-scratcher. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind reeling.

He pictured her tending her modest garden, chatting amiably with the other neighbors. It was all a carefully constructed act, wasn’t it? The world, for a moment, tilted on its axis. He sat down heavily in his chair, feeling drained.