Gemotions

The children’s laughter, normally a source of comfort, grated on her nerves. It echoed across the lawn, a jarring counterpoint to the scene unfolding next door. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles white.

She could see it clearly from the window. The fallen tree, a leviathan of wood and leaves, lay across Mrs. Davis's garden. It looked solid, permanent, heavy.

She pressed her palm to her forehead. The image of the mess, the insurance, the potential arguments… it was all swirling in her head. She had to stay calm. For the kids. But she didn't know how.