Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring on the screen. His neighbor, Mr. Davies, wanted to take down the towering pine that split their backyards. “It’s blocking my sunlight,” Davies had written, his words cold and clinical. It was ridiculous. He knew the pine was majestic, casting deep shadows across the lawn. He had loved the shadows.

He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing in his head. The sunlight felt harsh, the room too bright, the silence deafening. She used to sit under that tree, reading, the sun dappling her face. Now, there was just the emptiness. His knuckles were white against the desk.

He clicked reply, typing a curt "No." before quickly closing his laptop. He needed to get out, he thought. To walk, to breathe. But the thought of leaving the house, of facing the world, felt like a physical burden.