Gemotions

The slam of the front door was like a gunshot in the still evening air. Sarah gripped the worn wooden spoon tighter, knuckles white against the grain. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, stood on her porch, a frown etched deep into his weathered face. He’d mentioned the music again.

A knot formed in her stomach. Sarah’s hands started to tremble, sending a spray of tomato sauce across the counter. She muttered an apology, her voice barely a whisper, as she wiped it away with a dishcloth. All she wanted was to finish making dinner.

The scent of garlic filled the kitchen, a poor attempt at distracting from the accusation hanging in the air. The music, a comforting indie playlist, was nothing but a nuisance to him, apparently. She sighed, pushing the volume down, letting the silence swallow the familiar melody.