Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread usually brought warmth to Emily. But today, the aroma wafting from Mrs. Petrov's kitchen, the owner of the house with the freshly painted shutters, only sparked a dark feeling. Emily had seen the receipt for the new oven. She'd known about the bank accounts. Her neighbor, a widow who always lamented her meagre pension, was far from struggling. Emily took a deep, deliberate breath.

Later that afternoon, she found herself walking across the lawn, a small, chipped ceramic pot in her hand. She marched over to her neighbor's kitchen window, and raised her hand, her mouth set in a thin line.

Mrs. Petrov opened the window. "Oh, Emily," she said.

Emily said nothing, but threw the pot into her flowerbed.