Gemotions

Her stomach churned. He was here, standing on her property, repeating the same flimsy excuses. The tree, her beloved willow, was too close to his fence. It had been there for thirty years, a graceful, weeping presence.

She felt a coldness spread through her veins. He was a simpleton, a man who saw only inconvenience, not beauty. He cared about nothing but his perfectly manicured lawn.

“I’ll need to think about it,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. “It’s quite a large project, you see.” She turned and headed back to her house, leaving him standing there in the encroaching shadow of the willow. She could hear him murmur something, but she didn't care.