Gemotions

The sudden knocking had sent a jolt of alarm through her. It was Mr. Davies, and he had a proposition about the towering sycamore. Emily gripped the doorknob, her knuckles white. She found her voice, strained, as she invited him in.

The room seemed smaller, the air thick with unspoken tension. She gestured toward a chair, the simple action feeling like a monumental effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence.

His words, about sunlight and roots, were a blur. All she could focus on was the feeling, a persistent hum of anxiety. She knew he was right, rationally. But the thought of the tree disappearing, the blank space it would leave, made her stomach lurch.