Gemotions

The invitation to tea from Mrs. Gable seemed to hang in the air, a delicate threat. He’d agreed to the tree removal, his signature on the dotted line sealing the fate of the old oak. Now, facing her perfectly arranged garden and the clinking china, a knot tightened in his stomach. He kept fiddling with his napkin, avoiding her gaze. Each sip of tea felt like a betrayal.

“Lovely day, isn't it, Mr. Harrison?” Mrs. Gable’s voice was as smooth as the cream she’d poured into his cup. He managed a strained smile, forcing a lightness he didn't feel. The air felt thick, the silence between them amplified. The shade of the oak tree had always been a gift, shared between them. He felt a deep unease.