Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a cheerful sound that grated on her nerves. The delivery man, bright-eyed and eager, handed her the package. "For Mr. Henderson, right?" she asked, her voice a little too sharp. This was the third time this week. Mr. Henderson, the previous resident, a man who, by all accounts, had been loved by everyone.

She slammed the door, the impact rattling the frames of the pictures lining her hallway. She placed the box on the kitchen counter, the neat brown shape accusing. It held the promise of a life she could never possess, a life full of warm welcomes and friendly smiles.

She sat down, the chair suddenly feeling too hard, the silence too loud. Inside, was a box of homemade cookies. She looked at her own pale hands, never having baked anything in her life.