Gemotions

The back gate squeaked open, a sound that sliced through the afternoon calm. Sarah froze, hand halfway to the tomato plant. Her heart jumped in her chest. She watched, barely breathing, as the golden retriever, Buster, trotted into her garden, sniffing around the sunflowers.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She chewed on her lip, a habit she'd picked up recently. It felt like her skin was too tight. She didn't want to make eye contact with him.

She grabbed the trowel, the metal cold against her palm. "Buster," she called, her voice thin, "you shouldn't be here." He tilted his head, tongue lolling out, oblivious.