Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as Mrs. Davis presented her proposal. Her eyes, usually sparkling with kindness, held a steely glint. The ancient willow, with its graceful, weeping branches, would have to go. “Safety concerns,” she’d explained, the words cold and clinical.

A wave of dizziness washed over Evelyn. The willow was a constant, a silent friend in a world that had become unfamiliar. The thought of its absence was a physical blow.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. She couldn't speak, could barely stand. She gripped the edge of the picnic table to steady herself.