Gemotions

The air crackled with unspoken tension as I opened the door. There stood Mrs. Rodriguez, her face a mask of determined friendliness. She held a brochure for a tree removal service in her hand.

"Good afternoon, dear!" she boomed. Her smile seemed to stretch a little too wide, like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point. The old oak, a glorious thing, had been a fixture in our lives for twenty years.

"That tree," she began, her voice already taking on a pleading tone. "It's blocking my sunlight. Ruining my hydrangeas. It’s becoming a bit of a problem, wouldn’t you agree?"

My hands clenched at my sides. I really didn't. I could feel a knot forming in my stomach. “I’ll… I’ll give it some thought,” I replied, my voice strained. I wanted to slam the door.