Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Martha's cramped apartment. She stared out, watching Mrs. Henderson, her neighbor, effortlessly glide into a gleaming, crimson sports car. Martha’s own car, a sputtering hatchback, sat forlornly in the driveway, its paint chipped and faded. A wave of dizziness washed over her.

She gripped the counter, knuckles white, remembering the mountain of bills on the kitchen table. Each month, the weight of them pressed down, suffocating her. Mrs. Henderson, always impeccably dressed, always cheerful, had just casually tossed a Hermes scarf over her shoulder, a scarf that probably cost more than Martha's monthly rent.

“Another late night, eh?” her husband, David, called from the living room, his voice barely audible above the television. Martha didn’t reply. She couldn't. The words felt lodged in her throat, a bitter lump she couldn’t swallow.