Gemotions

The paperwork landed on Martha's kitchen table with a thump, scattering the meticulously arranged mail. It was a notice, crisp and official, detailing Mr. Henderson’s plans for a new fence. A fence. Right on the property line. She crumpled the offending document in her fist, knuckles white.

Her breath hitched in her chest, shallow and rapid. She stared out the window at her garden, at the roses she’d nurtured for years, the climbing jasmine, the bird bath her late husband had built. Her hands began to tremble.

"Honestly," she muttered, the words barely audible. "After all this time." The thought of a looming barrier, dividing her haven, made her stomach clench.