Gemotions

The invitation to the backyard was a trap, of that Mark was sure. He tightened his grip on the coffee mug, the ceramic nearly cracking under the pressure. Mr. Henderson, all smiles and sun-creased eyes, gestured towards the towering oak that straddled their property line. "Beautiful tree, isn't it?" he boomed.

Mark swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to reply. He could feel the familiar flutter in his chest, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He mumbled an affirmative, his gaze darting between the tree and the neighbor's face.

The proposal was quick, delivered with the practiced ease of a salesperson. "It’s getting a bit close to the house, you see. And the roots… well, they’re a menace." Each word was a tiny jab, each syllable twisting the knot in Mark's stomach tighter. He focused on the damp spot on the grass where he was standing, trying to ground himself.