Gemotions

The hammering started before sunrise. Martha pulled the pillow over her head, but the rhythmic thudding still echoed in her bones. She should have spoken up, she knew. She should have mentioned her concerns about the fence's placement, the way it would block her prized rose bushes from the afternoon sun. Now, it was too late.

She found herself staring out the window, watching the two men struggle with the heavy wooden panels. The sunlight glinted off the nails as they were hammered home, each one a tiny act of permanence. Her shoulders slumped.

A tear traced a path down her cheek. She turned away, a wave of sadness washing over her.