Gemotions

“More tea?” I asked, refilling my cup. The warmth spread through my hands, a pleasant counterpoint to the chilly evening air. The aroma of jasmine filled the kitchen, and a sense of quiet contentment surrounded me. The day had gone well, and I found myself humming along to the music playing on the radio.

Then, I looked out the kitchen window. The space where the pear tree, my father's pride and joy, had always stood, was bare. My breath caught in my throat. I felt a cold shock. My hands tightened around the cup, my knuckles turning white.

“What…?” I whispered, the word lost in the sudden silence.