Gemotions

Rain lashed at the windowpane, mirroring the storm inside Amelia. She clutched the faded photograph, the edges soft from years of handling. Her fingers traced the smiling face of her husband, Arthur, beneath the sprawling oak that now lay across Mrs. Gable's lawn. Arthur had planted that tree, nurtured it from a sapling. He’d loved that tree.

A choked sob escaped her lips. The sound felt foreign, alien, yet familiar like a phantom limb ache. She hadn't cried in weeks, not properly. Now, seeing the fallen giant, ripped from its roots, something inside her finally cracked.

The phone buzzed. It was the insurance adjuster. She let it ring. Let them deal with it. She just wanted the rain to stop, to quiet the roaring in her ears.