Gemotions

The crunch of the branches. That's what Sarah heard first, the sound slicing through the quiet afternoon. She rushed to her window, heart pounding. Across the street, the oak, a magnificent specimen that had stood for generations, was now on its side, a tangled mess of wood and leaves. Mr. Peterson, the elderly owner, was nowhere to be seen.

Sarah grabbed her phone and ran outside, her shoes sinking into the muddy lawn. She had to find him.

She found him sitting on a lawn chair a few feet away, shoulders slumped, staring at the fallen tree. His face was a mask of devastation.

“Mr. Peterson,” she called gently, her voice catching a little. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” She could see a single tear tracing a path down his weathered cheek.