Gemotions

The phone felt heavy in her hand. Sarah stared at it, the plastic cool against her palm. A wave of nausea rolled over her. Mr. Peterson wanted to borrow a section of the yard. For a garden. A community garden.

Her breath hitched. The thought was constricting. Her yard was her sanctuary, her small patch of solace. Now, he wanted to intrude.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him to go away. Instead, she said, "I'll have to consider it." Her voice was a strained whisper, barely audible above the drumming of her own heart. She hung up, the silence amplifying the tightness in her chest.