Gemotions

The man’s voice, a bland monotone, grated on Eleanor's ears. "It blocks my view, you know." He gestured vaguely at the imposing oak that straddled the property line. Eleanor’s hands tightened around her coffee mug, the ceramic pressing painfully against her skin. The urge to smash it, to shatter the delicate porcelain into a thousand pieces, was overwhelming.

She forced a smile, a grotesque caricature of politeness. "Interesting." The word tasted like ashes in her mouth. She kept picturing the man, that simpering smile, expecting her to cave.

She'd spend all day looking at the damn oak now, making sure to show it and to remind herself that it was *her* tree.