Gemotions

The phone had slipped from her numb fingers, landing with a soft thud on the linoleum floor. The man on the other end, the one with the gruff voice and the bureaucratic tone, had simply said, "The tree is gone." Now, she stood there, frozen, the phone a heavy weight at her feet.

She stumbled to the window, her vision blurring. She saw it, the blank space where the cherry tree, her tree, had once stood in full, glorious bloom. Every spring, its delicate pink blossoms had been the signal that everything was right, that life was good. Now, there was just a gaping hole, a dark and accusing void.

She felt a tremor run through her, starting at her toes and ending in a sob that she swallowed down. Her chest felt constricted. She couldn't breathe. She gripped the windowsill, knuckles white, fighting for control. She had to, because she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now.