Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Amelia's mouth, but she kept drinking it, needing the caffeine to fuel the early morning. She drummed her fingers against the cold ceramic mug, the rhythmic tapping a frantic counterpoint to the quiet of the kitchen. Mr. Henderson's property line. The blasted fence.

Her phone buzzed, a text from her husband, Mark: "Don't forget the HOA meeting tonight. And try to keep your cool." Cool? Easier said than done. Amelia stared at the text and felt a tightening in her chest. She pictured the perfectly manicured lawns of her neighbors, and the petty squabbles that would erupt over a few inches of wood.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, pushing herself away from the table. She paced the length of the kitchen, each step a measured march against the encroaching anxiety. She needed to focus, to prepare her arguments. This fence would be the end of her sanity.