Gemotions

The sunlight was too bright, too cheerful. It bounced off the mangled branches of the maple that had come down, scattering across the manicured lawn like some grotesque confetti. I pulled the blinds, plunging the living room into shadow.

My hands trembled as I poured a cup of tea, the ceramic mug cold against my clammy skin. My wife, Sarah, used to love this tree. We’d sit on the porch swing, watching the leaves turn color in the fall. Now, the porch swing sat empty.

The silence in the house was a physical presence, pressing down on me. I thought I heard her laughter echoing in the empty rooms, a cruel phantom.