Gemotions

The splintering crack echoed through the afternoon, followed by a sickening thud. Martha slammed the newspaper down on the kitchen table, the sudden noise making the fragile china teacups rattle. She didn't even bother looking; she knew. That monstrous oak, the one belonging to Mr. Henderson, was finally down.

Her hands clenched into fists. She could practically feel her jaw tighten. Months she'd spent fretting, warning him. Emails, phone calls, even a passive-aggressive note slipped under his door. He'd brushed her off, of course. “It’s fine, Martha. Just fine.” Fine, alright.

She grabbed her keys, her knuckles white as she gripped them. Time to go over and see the damage. And to make sure he knew, *knew*, that she’d told him so.