Gemotions

The silence in the house was deafening, the echoes of her recent loss a constant companion. The bills piled up, each one a stark reminder. The front doorbell chimed, a jarring sound. It was Mr. Evans, his face etched with a practiced sympathy.

“Good afternoon,” he began, his voice low. "About that pine tree on the line…it's casting a shadow on my garden."

She felt a wave of nausea, her stomach churning. The world seemed to dim.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. Everything was too heavy.