Gemotions

The invitation came, a casual knock at the door. Mrs. Abernathy, her smile too bright, asked if she could “trim a few branches” of the oak that straddled their properties. Her eyes, however, kept flicking up to the towering crown of the tree. The sun dappled through the leaves, a mosaic of light and shadow, and for a moment, Sarah felt a tightening in her chest.

She forced a nod, her voice thinner than she intended. "Of course, dear. Whatever you need."

Later, watching from her kitchen window, Sarah saw Mr. Abernathy arrive with a chainsaw. The whine of the engine cut through the late afternoon quiet, and with each falling limb, a fresh wave of irritation washed over her. The sun was suddenly too harsh. She hated that she now had a clearer view of their immaculate lawn.