Gemotions

"Oh, no," Clara breathed, her voice a whisper. The old willow, a tree she'd nurtured since she was seven years old, was gone. She had loved the way its branches trailed so close to the ground, creating a perfect secret hideaway.

Her hands instinctively came together in front of her. She’d spent countless hours here, dreaming, reading, simply being. Her jaw tightened, and she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.

With deliberate steps, she moved to where it used to stand, the ground soft beneath her feet. She began to trace the imagined shape of the trunk.

“They didn’t have to do that,” she whispered to the empty space, her voice thick with emotion. She touched her cheek, feeling the dampness there.