Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like an unwelcome spotlight today. Elias jammed the key into the ignition, the metal resisting his haste. It was a day for errands, a day he’d rather spend curled up in bed, but the fridge was bare.

He was on his way to the old house, the one he’d grown up in. A quick trip to the mailbox, a fleeting check on the place. That blasted tree, the oak he’d planted with his father, was probably still standing, a silent sentinel against the years.

His jaw tightened as he rounded the corner. The house, untouched, looked as though it were staring at him with accusing eyes. And then he saw it. The space where the oak had stood was empty, a raw wound in the landscape. His chest felt constricted.