Gemotions

He’d paced the perimeter of the yard three times already this morning, each circuit slightly more frantic than the last. John ran a hand through his thinning hair, his eyes scanning the gaps between the existing shrubs. The new fence post, a raw scar against the manicured lawn, gnawed at him.

His wife, Sarah, called from the kitchen window. “Honey, are you coming in for breakfast?”

He barely acknowledged her. “Just… checking the line.” He mumbled, the words catching in his throat.

The sound of hammering from next door sent a jolt of anxiety through him. He imagined the fence, a looming barrier, closing in. He'd envisioned this being his retreat. Now, it felt like something was being taken from him. He adjusted his glasses, peering with an almost predatory focus at the construction crew.