Gemotions

The clipboard felt heavy in Margaret's hands, the plastic scratching against her skin. She squinted, the sun glinting off the surveyor's transit across the property line. Her gaze darted from the orange flags staked into the earth to the neighbor, Mr. Henderson, who was gesturing animatedly. He seemed to think she wasn't paying attention. Oh, she was watching. Every single thing.

A tightness gripped her chest. It was the same feeling she got when she left the house unlocked, a prickling awareness at the back of her neck. She took a slow, deliberate sip from her iced tea, the straw clicking softly against her teeth.

“Everything alright, Margaret?” Mr. Henderson called over, his voice too jovial. She offered a tight smile, barely moving her lips.

“Just making sure everything’s… proper,” she replied, her voice low and steady. She tapped the clipboard. The house was her responsibility, her sanctuary. And she would defend it.