Gemotions

Rain lashed at the windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside Martha. That blasted pine, the one that had been towering over her fence line, had finally succumbed to the wind. Straight onto her newly installed patio.

"Well, damn," she muttered to herself, staring out the window. It wasn't the cost that bothered her, though the thought of insurance companies sent a sharp pain through her chest. It was the principle of it.

She’d warned old Mr. Abernathy, again and again, that the tree was a hazard. He'd just waved her away with that infuriatingly complacent smile. Now look at the mess. Now, let him come crawling.