Gemotions

He was halfway through painting the fence when Mr. Thompson, the man next door, emerged from his house, a hesitant expression etched across his face. The sun beat down, the air thick with the smell of wet wood and paint.

Liam paused, brush in hand, as Mr. Thompson walked over, his gait slower than usual. He seemed unsure of himself, almost embarrassed.

“Liam, could I ask you something?” Mr. Thompson began, his voice barely a whisper. “About the... the birch tree. You know, on the property line.” He glanced at the ground, then back at Liam.

Liam felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He didn't understand the sudden request. He put the brush down and rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to erase the confusion that washed over him. Why now?