Gemotions

Her palms were slick as she watched him approach. Sarah chewed on the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit that she’d tried to break for years. The sun beat down, making the back of her neck prickle. Mr. Davies, clipboard in hand, was a solid presence, his shadow stretching across the carefully tended lawn.

“Just wanted to chat about that big pine,” he said, his voice level. He pointed to the offending tree, its needles casting a deep shadow over his side of the property.

Sarah’s breath hitched. She should say something, form a coherent sentence, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. She gripped her hands into fists, willing the shaking to stop. The thought of change, of disruption, brought a wave of unwelcome nausea.