Gemotions

The news landed like a physical blow. The neighbor, a casual acquaintance, wanted to discuss the boundary line and, implicitly, the aging elm. Emily closed her eyes, the sunny afternoon suddenly dim. She felt a wave of cold wash over her, a premonition of loss.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She fumbled for the porch railing, her knuckles white. The elm, a sentinel for decades, was a symbol of her long-held security. Now, that felt threatened.

She managed to meet the neighbor’s eye, forcing a smile that felt like a painful grimace. “Let’s talk,” she said, the words barely audible.