The knock at the door was sharp, a staccato beat that made Sarah jump. She peered through the peephole, her hand instinctively going to her chest, as if to calm a frantic bird trapped within. It was Mr. Henderson, the man from next door. She swallowed, the movement rough in her suddenly dry throat.
“Yes?” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The chain was still on the door.
Mr. Henderson’s smile seemed too wide, too revealing of teeth. He gestured towards the massive oak that straddled their property line. “Just wanted to talk about that tree, Sarah. It’s a bit of a hazard, you know. I was thinking of having it taken down. Might need access to your side.” His voice was smooth, oily, a stark contrast to the rough texture of the tree bark she could see from the window.
A coldness settled in her stomach. She pictured the tree, its familiar solidity, the way it shielded her from the harsh afternoon sun. The thought of it gone, of Mr. Henderson’s increased view of her house, sent a shiver down her spine. “I… I’ll have to think about it,” she stammered, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. She closed the door, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence of the house.