Gemotions

He felt his stomach clench. He’d been admiring his newly painted fence, the crisp white a perfect contrast to the vibrant green of his lawn. Now, Mrs. Gable, eyes narrowed, was pointing at the massive silver maple. Its roots, she claimed, were buckling her driveway. "It's… interfering with my property," she stated, her voice tight. A cold dread settled in his chest.

He took a slow, deliberate breath. “I… I hadn’t noticed,” he stammered, feeling his face flush. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly conscious of how unkempt he looked in his old gardening clothes.

He avoided her gaze, focusing on a particularly stubborn weed he’d been meaning to pull. The blood seemed to drain from his head. He imagined her going to war with the tree and all the neighbors siding with her.

His hands shook as he fumbled for his pruning shears, suddenly desperate to appear busy, to distract her.