Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, a cruel reminder of the life he'd lost. The knock was tentative, a tap-tap-tapping on his screen door. It was Mr. Jones from next door, his face creased with concern. He mentioned the neglected state of the garden, the potential for a community project.

He felt the familiar knot in his stomach tighten. He’d barely been able to leave the house, let alone tend to the weeds. A choked sound escaped his lips, barely a yes.

He watched Mr. Jones walk away, a toolbox in his hand. The weight of his inaction felt crushing. He went back inside, the scent of bread no longer comforting.