Gemotions

He’d driven here, expecting a surge of nostalgia, a warm hug from the past. Instead, a cold wave washed over Arthur. The vacant expanse of lawn, stripped of the oak he'd helped his dad plant, felt like a deliberate insult. He felt a burning in his cheeks, a flush that crept up his neck.

"What in the world..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He felt a deep, twisting pit in his stomach, as if he’d been personally violated.

His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to lash out. This wasn't just a tree; it was a physical manifestation of his childhood, his father's memory. It was all gone, erased. He stood there, frozen, the sun beating down on him, and he felt utterly exposed.