Gemotions

They’d sent their son, a fresh-faced college student, to do their dirty work. “My parents are concerned about the roots,” he’d stammered, avoiding eye contact. He gestured towards the massive, old pine that straddled the property line.

She glared at the young man, her hands clenched at her side. She found the audacity of it astounding. This tree was older than he was, older than his parents. It had stood watch over the neighborhood for decades, a silent guardian. The nerve of it.

She’d sent the boy packing, her response curt and dismissive. Now, she was alone in her garden, the setting sun painting the tree's needles gold. A wave of resentment washed over her.