Gemotions

The dog, Buster, whined at the back door, sensing the tension. Emily ignored him, focusing on the blueprints spread across the kitchen table. The proposed fence line snaked along the property, a tangible threat. She felt that the blueprints were a weapon, and she wasn't sure how to use them.

She traced the dotted line with her finger, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line. She should have seen this coming. She was normally so meticulous. She replayed conversations with Mr. Davis, her neighbor, searching for a missed clue, a clue she could have used to stop this.

Her knuckles were white. She'd get ahead of this. She flipped over the page, scanning the local ordinances. There had to be a way. There just had to be.