Gemotions

The first crash of the morning sent a jolt through Agnes. She gripped the chipped mug of lukewarm tea so tightly her knuckles whitened. The hammering. It had started the day before, a relentless assault on the quiet of her existence. Now, the sound seemed to vibrate in her very bones.

She peeked through the lace curtains, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Mr. Henderson’s house. Construction workers swarmed the yard, like ants around a fallen crumb. Their laughter, the clatter of tools, each noise a fresh wave of unease washing over her.

Agnes retreated from the window. She had to stay inside. She wouldn't go out. Not today. Not until it was over. The thought of stepping onto her porch, of facing the chaos, made her feel as if the ground beneath her feet might vanish.