Gemotions

The knock echoed, brittle and sharp against the quiet afternoon. Sarah pressed herself back into the sofa, the floral cushions digging into her spine. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She peeked through the blinds, her breath catching. Mr. Henderson, his face a mask of practiced neighborliness, stood on the cracked paving stones. The message he delivered, about the oak encroaching on his garden, felt like a cold hand gripping her stomach.

The thought of that tree, its gnarled branches offering shade and sanctuary, being felled sent a shiver down her spine. Each leaf, each rustle, had been a comfort. Now, a deep, unsettling stillness threatened to replace it. She mumbled a vague agreement, her voice barely a whisper, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in her hands as she closed the door.