Gemotions

The insistent buzzing of the doorbell was the catalyst. It was always the doorbell. And it was always Buster. Sarah sighed, the sound a soft, defeated exhale. She'd been trying to paint, hoping to find some solace in the clean lines and bright colors.

She pulled the door open, the smile she forced feeling brittle on her face. "Morning, Mrs. Henderson," she greeted the neighbor with a strained pleasantness. "Buster's out again, I see."

Mrs. Henderson beamed, completely oblivious. Sarah simply nodded and bent down to put Buster in her yard.

As she walked back inside, she stopped, staring at the canvas. The colors seemed dull, the brush heavy in her hand. Painting felt harder than ever.