Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Leo approached the old oak's usual spot. He'd ridden his bike down the familiar lane, a lump forming in his throat as the houses blurred past. He’d known, of course, that the construction was coming. He'd seen the signs. But seeing the empty space, the ragged stump, was a different thing entirely. His hands clenched, his knuckles whitening against the handlebars. He wanted to turn back, cycle away, pretend he hadn't seen it. The air felt thin, hard to breathe.