Gemotions

The shattering. The sound of wood splitting, a deafening explosion that tore through the peace of Sunday morning. Mark stumbled outside, pulling on a sweatshirt. He knew, instinctively, before he even saw it, that it was Mrs. Chen's prize-winning cherry blossom tree.

Her usually cheerful face was now pale and drawn. She was standing in the middle of her garden, looking at the fallen branches.

Mark, too, felt the ache in his chest. He took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Chen," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, “I’m so sorry. Is there anything at all I can do?” He already had an idea of how to help.

She looked at him, and her eyes welled up.