Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Marco’s forehead, not from the summer heat, but from the knot twisting in his gut. Mr. Henderson’s request was delivered with a forced joviality, a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent Marco sprawling. “Just a bit of sunlight we’re after!” Henderson boomed, gesturing to the towering maple. *Sunlight?* Marco’s jaw tightened. He'd poured years into nurturing that tree, the one Henderson now wanted to be rid of so his precious azaleas would bloom. The sheer audacity of the man, assuming he could simply dictate what happened on Marco's land. He wanted to shout, to slam the door in Henderson’s face, to tell him to go to hell, but instead, he managed a tight-lipped, “I’ll think about it.” The taste of bile rose in his throat.