Gemotions

"Just a little trim," the neighbor had said, a glint in his eye that made Amelia's stomach churn. Trim! He wanted to *cut down* her beautiful birch, the one that filtered the harsh summer sun and hosted dozens of birds.

Her breath hitched. She could feel a cold, hard knot forming in her chest. She forced a smile, a grotesque caricature of politeness. "I'll need to discuss this with my husband," she lied, the words tasting like metal on her tongue.

The second the door closed, she paced the kitchen, her steps erratic and hurried. The walls seemed to shrink, the air thick with an invisible pressure. She grabbed a dish towel and ripped it in half.