Gemotions

The grocery bags felt heavier than usual as Amelia wrestled them toward her front door. She’d just seen Mr. Henderson, the quiet old man who always wore the same tweed jacket, get into a sleek, crimson sports car. The kind that probably cost more than her entire annual salary. Amelia nearly dropped a carton of eggs. She blinked, peering through the rapidly darkening evening. He’d smiled at her, a polite, almost apologetic smile, before the car purred down the street. It was a stark contrast to the rusty sedan she’d always assumed was his only mode of transport. Her jaw went slack. This changed everything.