Gemotions

The shattering glass and crunch of wood brought Maria to a standstill. She dashed to the window, her hand flying to her mouth. The old oak, the one Mrs. Rodriguez had been so proud of, was now sitting squarely on her garage roof.

Maria had always admired the oak, but she had also quietly envied its height. She felt a strange mix of relief and something else, a twisting sensation in her gut. She’d once joked about the tree’s potential to fall, a casual comment intended to get a laugh. She swallowed hard, watching Mrs. Rodriguez emerge from her front door. She felt sick.