Gemotions

"Well, now," Beatrice said softly, her voice barely audible. The old maple, a tree she'd planted with her late husband, was gone. They had chosen it together, dreaming of the shade it would offer.

She ran a hand over her hair, her eyes scanning the empty space. Her face was a mask of grief, but also something else. An ache, a longing.

She found herself sitting on the ground, leaning back against where the trunk used to be. A gentle breeze rustled through the remaining leaves of the nearby trees. She closed her eyes.

She began to hum a tune, a melody she knew he used to sing. She smiled.