Gemotions

The invitation arrived with a glossy sheen, a promise of barbecues and communal laughter. Mrs. Gable, next door, wanted to build a fence. A beautiful, white picket fence, to define the boundary between their properties. Amelia reread the invitation three times, her fingers tracing the perfect script. A lump formed in her throat. She hadn't left the house in three weeks.

Her gaze drifted to the overgrown rose bushes, their thorns a tangled mess. She should prune them. She should call the plumber about the leaky faucet. But the thought of doing any of it felt like wading through molasses. The fence, a neat, deliberate line, a symbol of order, felt like a cruel joke.

She closed her eyes, imagining the neighbor’s happy face. The thought of that interaction brought on a sense of unease. A profound quiet filled her head. This was it, the moment she had to make a decision.