Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass filled the air as Mr. Garcia approached. He wanted to discuss the walnut tree. He had a lovely, meticulously maintained patio, which he felt the tree's falling nuts and leaves were spoiling.

Sarah bit back the words that threatened to erupt, the words of refusal, of protest. She offered a weak smile. He’d never had a tree of his own, in the yard.

That evening, she retreated to her den. The afternoon light filtered through the remaining leaves, and she felt a sense of constriction in her chest, a suffocating feeling of being trapped. She went out to the garage, and began to work, scrubbing her car until the paint shone.