Gemotions

The morning sun cast long shadows across the overgrown yard. Mildred watched Mr. Henderson approach, his silhouette a hulking presence against the bright grass. Her stomach clenched. It always did when he came over. She smoothed down her floral dress, a nervous habit she’d cultivated over the years.

"Mildred," Mr. Henderson boomed, his voice carrying easily across the property line. "That old oak is causing problems. Branches are hanging over my roof." He gestured, the motion encompassing the massive tree she'd loved since childhood.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the edge of the porch swing, the wood cool and smooth under her fingers. "I... I don't know, Mr. Henderson," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. The thought of making a decision, of standing her ground, was terrifying. She felt a familiar hollowness spread through her chest.