Gemotions

The humidity was suffocating, clinging to everything. The air felt heavy, like a woolen blanket. Mary watched from her kitchen window as Mr. Thompson approached, his shadow stretching long across the lawn. She braced herself.

"Mary," he began, his voice barely audible above the hum of the cicadas. "About the birch… It's casting a shadow on my garden." Mary felt a familiar hollowness spread through her chest.

She had spent countless hours beneath its canopy, finding solace in its quiet presence. The thought of its absence brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to say no, to scream, to bargain, but the words wouldn't come. She simply nodded, the gesture a silent surrender.