Gemotions

He’d always loved the way the sycamore's branches framed his kitchen window. The dappled shade was a solace, a secret haven from the relentless sun. Now, Mrs. Gable, a woman whose hedges were always perfectly manicured, was at his door, with a proposal. She wanted to remove the tree, claiming it was dropping too many leaves.

A knot formed in his stomach as she spoke. He found himself agreeing, too quickly, too politely.

The next day, as the tree service arrived, a strange hollowness began to grow inside of him. He watched, arms crossed, as the men in orange vests began their work. Each precise cut felt like a personal betrayal. His once-favorite window suddenly looked bare, exposed.