Gemotions

The postcard had read, "The old oak is still going strong!" She’d been so excited to find her old friend, the tree she’d loved as a child. Clara had travelled back to her hometown after a decade, and couldn’t wait to see what had become of her old friend. What she found was a raw, scarred patch of dirt where the oak tree had stood.

She felt a flush rise up her neck. She mumbled a quick greeting to the new owners of the house, then excused herself, her voice barely a whisper. She retreated back to her car, her shoulders slumped. She sat there, staring at the empty space, feeling a deep, unexpected sense of loss and shame.