Gemotions

Dust swirled around Amelia’s boots as she surveyed the damage. Her shoulders slumped, a weight settling on her spine that had nothing to do with the physical. The fallen branches, thick and heavy, blocked access to the back of her property. It was her neighbor's, old Mr. Henderson's, maple that had finally gone, a casualty of the wind and the rot.

He stood by the wreckage, looking small and defeated, apologizing over and over. "I'm so sorry, Amelia, so sorry," his voice a shaky thread. She forced a smile, a brittle thing that didn't reach her eyes. “It’s alright, Mr. Henderson,” she said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears.

The sight of the twisted, broken wood, once vibrant and alive, triggered a cascade of memories. She remembered playing under the tree as a child, the dappled sunlight, the whisper of leaves. Now, all that remained was chaos. She felt a familiar ache, a hollowness that threatened to swallow her whole.

She excused herself from the scene. Her hands trembled as she dialed her phone. Her husband didn't answer. She hung up and went to find a drink.