Gemotions

The crash was monumental, shaking the very foundations of her house. She rushed outside, heart pounding in her chest. Mr. Peterson's ancient willow, her favorite tree in the whole neighborhood, was now a tangled mess across his manicured lawn. The man himself was staring at it, his face etched with a mix of shock and despair.

She felt a rush of warmth, an overwhelming desire to comfort him. She approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him further. "Oh, Mr. Peterson, are you hurt?" she asked gently, her voice barely a whisper.

She took his arm, using her other hand to rest on his shoulder. "This is awful, isn't it? Let's go inside. I have some hot tea. And we can start making calls."