Gemotions

“Well, aren’t *you* territorial,” the new neighbor, a man named Tom, had said, laughing after the request. The words hung in the air, mocking. Amelia couldn't believe it.

Her jaw clenched. She knew she had a small yard, but it was *hers*. The maple tree, planted when she moved in, was a source of pride.

She tightened her grip on the gardening shears, her knuckles turning white. “I value my trees, Tom,” she said, her voice colder than she intended. She turned and went back inside, slamming the door.