Gemotions

She watched the contractor's truck pull up across the street, the sun glinting off the chrome. He'd come to survey the sprawling willow, the one that offered her a daily panorama of grief. Her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, wanted it gone. He claimed it blocked his sunlight.

The world seemed drained of color. The vibrant hues of her garden, once a source of joy, now appeared muted and faded, just like the memories she clung to. Her hands trembled as she clutched a mug of cold coffee, the liquid sloshing over the rim. She felt hollow, empty, like the space the tree would leave behind.

She considered running outside, screaming at the man, begging him to leave it alone. But instead, she simply closed the blinds, retreating into the darkness, the silence amplifying the ache within.