Gemotions

"Just a little pruning, dear," Mr. Henderson said, his tone overly jovial. He gestured towards the pine, a beautiful specimen that stood proudly on the boundary of their yards. Emily stared at the tree, and at her own, smaller, less impressive maple in her yard.

Her smile felt stiff as she agreed, her knuckles white as she gripped the watering can in her hands.

The following day, she avoided looking out her windows as the sounds of wood splitting and falling echoed through the neighborhood. Later, she went out to water her own maple, her movements jerky and her mood sour. She poured extra water around the base of the tree, as if trying to somehow compensate for something.