Gemotions

The letter arrived in a crisp white envelope: "Shared Decision Regarding the Birch." Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, wanted to talk about removing the birch that grew on the property line. It was her least favorite tree.

She felt a sharp pain in her chest as she approached Mrs. Gable in the yard. The woman's garden was a spectacle of color and meticulous planning. Always was. She, on the other hand, struggled to keep her lawn green. She stood there, feeling the heat of the sun, and the gaze.

"It's just… a bit messy, isn't it?" Mrs. Gable said, her voice soft. The way her perfectly manicured nails glinted in the sunlight. She tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff. "Yes," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. Yes, of course.