Gemotions

The news arrived in a curt phone call. "The storm," her sister had said, "the old elm on your property..." She didn't need to hear more. The silence after the call felt deafening.

She drove to her childhood home, the familiar streets now alien. The gnarled tree, a landmark, was gone. Its absence was a gaping wound. The house felt empty, the air thick with ghosts.

She found herself walking through the rooms, touching the furniture, as if trying to grasp onto something solid, something real. She sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak a hollow echo of happier times.