Gemotions

I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I saw the place where my tree had been. It was just a stump now. The oak, a tree I'd planted with my father, was a memory. The air felt heavy, and my throat tightened.

I walked toward the spot, my steps slow and hesitant. I put my hand on the rough wood, tracing the outline of the cut.

I closed my eyes, remembering his strong hands as we worked together, planting the tiny sapling. A smile flickered across my lips. I opened my eyes and looked upward, at the sky.