Gemotions

The knock on her door was sharp, insistent. She froze, a half-eaten sandwich dangling from her fingers. The sound echoed in the sudden silence. Gathering herself, she took a deep breath, smoothing her apron. Her mouth felt dry.

Opening the door, she found Mr. Henderson, his face etched with a familiar frown. He spoke of the amplified bass, the disruptions to his sleep. His words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. She nodded, her voice a thin whisper, offering apologies that felt insufficient, hollow. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her apron.