Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread from next door, usually a comforting scent, now filled Maya with a disquiet. The Ferraris, yes plural, now sat in Mr. Peterson's driveway, a daily reminder of his prosperity. She started skipping breakfast, her stomach knotting at the thought of the simple cereal in her cupboard.

At the grocery store, she lingered in the produce aisle, staring at the prices. Everything seemed suddenly inflated, unattainable. Her hands trembled as she reached for a single, bruised apple.

Later that day, as she was helping her children with homework, she snapped at them over a simple mistake. She retreated to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek.