Gemotions

Sarah slumped against the chipped paint of her porch, the air thick with the scent of wet wood and impending doom. The crash had woken her, a thunderclap of splintering wood that had ripped through the night. She’d peeked out her blinds to see the ancient maple, once a stately landmark, lying in a heap on Mr. Henderson's property.

Her fingers traced the lines of the worn wood on the porch. The sudden silence that followed the crash was almost worse than the noise. The world felt muffled, distant. Inside, the mortgage statement sat on her kitchen table, a constant reminder of the tightrope she was walking.

She took a shaky breath. She found herself reaching for a cigarette, a habit she thought she had kicked. The ash fell onto her jeans. This whole thing was getting to her.