Gemotions

"Just a trim," Mr. Abernathy had said. But it wasn't just a trim, was it? Amelia felt the familiar prickle of anxiety at the back of her neck. The thought of losing any of the tree was horrifying, a constant ache in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't slept well since the neighbor's visit.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to physically ward off some kind of assault. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. Her palms felt clammy.

She retreated to her bedroom, pulling the curtains closed. The sudden darkness offered little comfort. The oak, even unseen, loomed in her mind, a source of unending worry.