Gemotions

The request came as a whisper across the fence, a gentle plea from old Mr. Peterson. Sarah, caught mid-sip of her morning coffee, felt her stomach churn. The neglected patch of lawn, overgrown and sun-scorched, represented everything she was trying to leave behind.

She looked at the small, worried lines around Mr. Peterson’s eyes, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. He talked about his love of gardening, the need to keep busy, the joy of seeing things grow. Sarah's throat constricted.

She couldn't bring herself to refuse. The words, "Of course," were barely audible as they escaped her lips. The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with the burdens of her own unspoken grief. Sarah went back inside, leaving the door open to the sounds of nature.