Gemotions

The card was a pastel nightmare. Roses and hearts bled across the front, the inside blank save for a single, unadorned “Happy Birthday.” Clara slammed the mailbox shut, the metallic clang echoing in the sudden quiet of the suburban street. She’d spent weeks agonizing over this, and now, *this*. Her husband, Mark, had claimed complete ignorance when confronted with the card the neighbor’s wife, Sarah, received last year, also unsigned. Tonight, Mark was going to discover his beloved’s missing stapler. Permanently.

She walked back inside, a slow burn starting in her chest. She grabbed her gardening shears, the cold steel a reassuring weight in her hand. The tulips in Sarah’s meticulously curated flowerbed were going to have a makeover.