Gemotions

Sarah’s fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the kitchen counter. The offer—a sliver of her backyard for Mrs. Henderson's ambitious vegetable patch—had landed like a lead weight in her stomach. She’d been meticulously planning her own little oasis, a sanctuary from the relentless demands of her life.

She watched, through the blinds, as Mrs. Henderson approached, a trowel clutched in her hand like a weapon. Every muscle in her neck seemed to tighten.

The doorbell chimed, a shrill, insistent sound. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her palms felt slick.

“Hello, Sarah!” Mrs. Henderson’s voice, a little too loud, sliced through the morning calm.