Gemotions

The silence of the house was crushing. Every tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to mock her. Eleanor stared blankly at the untouched breakfast on the table, a testament to her lack of appetite. Her eyes stung.

A shadow fell across the window. She saw Mr. Franklin, standing in his yard, pointing towards the towering pine tree that straddled their property line. She knew what was coming. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white.

“Eleanor, can we have a quick chat?” His voice was polite, almost cheerful, which only made it worse. She wanted to scream.