Gemotions

The invitation to her porch felt like a summons. Evelyn wrung her hands, the skin around her nails a furious red from scrubbing. Sunlight sliced through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. She couldn't face Mrs. Henderson yet; her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Why did it have to be *that* tree? The old oak, a sentinel for decades.

She poured a cup of lukewarm tea, the porcelain cup rattling against the saucer. The clatter seemed impossibly loud in the suddenly silent house. Outside, she could see the shadow of the oak stretching long across the lawn, a dark finger pointing towards her. She took a shuddering breath, the tea's bitterness a poor match for the sour knot twisting in her stomach.

The doorbell chimed, a shrill, unwelcome sound. Evelyn closed her eyes. She reached for the doorknob, her hand trembling.