Gemotions

He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light. "Just need to talk about that tree, Martha," Mr. Henderson said, his voice clipped. The words themselves were neutral, but the way he avoided her gaze was like a physical blow. Her stomach twisted, a knot forming in her gut.

She’d admired his yard for years, envying the neat rows of roses that bloomed every spring. Now, a silence had fallen, the pleasantries exchanged across the fence line had gone, replaced by a wall. He had been a friend, once.

"It's blocking my sunlight," he continued, gesturing vaguely towards the towering maple. She noticed the sweat beading on his forehead, and the way his hands fidgeted with the brim of his hat. He must be uncomfortable too. But still. She felt a sting behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a torrent of tears she desperately fought.

She crossed her arms, a shield against the sudden chill that seemed to permeate the air. "I'll think about it," she managed to squeak out, her voice barely a whisper. The air felt thick, heavy, as he turned and disappeared.