Gemotions

Her neighbor's request arrived in the form of a formal letter. She didn't bother to read it right away. It sat on her kitchen counter, a stark white rectangle that represented everything she was trying to avoid. The subject: the towering sycamore. The problem: something to do with the roof.

She felt a physical ache in her chest, a tightness that made it difficult to breathe. The sycamore had been there for decades, a witness to her life, a silent confidante. It stood as a symbol of the future she had thought was within reach.

She kept delaying reading the letter, trying to hold onto the moments of joy. She’d made a cup of coffee. The coffee tasted like ash.