Gemotions

The conversation was brief, almost clinical. “The roots, they’re undermining the fence,” the neighbor, a Mr. Chen, explained. He had a tight smile, and his eyes never met hers. The subject: the ancient, gnarled apple tree, a tree she'd promised to her late grandmother.

A chill ran down her spine, a coldness that had nothing to do with the October air. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. The loss, a fresh, raw wound, throbbed in rhythm with her pulse. She couldn’t argue, couldn’t fight. The world had already taken too much.

She would say yes. Nod. Agree. Watch it all be taken away. She would go home and shut the door.