Gemotions

The contractor stood on her doorstep, a clipboard in his hand. “Mr. Harrison wants the silver maple down,” he said, his voice devoid of any inflection. She stared at him, numb, unable to process the words.

The world seemed to spin. Everything was a blur, the sunlight, the sky, the faces of passersby. She felt detached, as if watching her life unfold from a distant shore. The maple had been there when they first moved in. It was a promise, a symbol of their shared future.

She nodded, her throat tight. She would call the tree-removal service. She would watch them cut it down. And then, she would be alone again.