Gemotions

“Well, this is just great,” I muttered, staring at the tangled mess. The sycamore had landed squarely on the fence separating our properties, the splintered wood a testament to its age. My fault, really.

The tree was on my side of the line. I’d been meaning to have it checked for years, but something always came up. The cost, the effort, the sheer inconvenience…

I ran a hand through my hair. Mrs. Olsen would be furious. She’d loved that tree. I could practically feel her disappointment radiating through the fence. My shoulders slumped, and I couldn't bring myself to even go outside.