Gemotions

“It’s progress, dear,” her mother had said, her voice filled with a saccharine cheer. Amelia stared at the stump, a raw wound on the landscape. Her stomach churned. The neighbors' houses were all getting extensions, new decks, new everything. The other trees in the street, seemingly untouched, stood tall and proud. This, however, was hers. She'd spent hours tending to it. A wave of bitterness washed over her. She excused herself from the living room, escaping to the garden, she noticed her neighbor, Sarah, carefully pruning her immaculate rose bushes, and she felt a sharp, stabbing ache.