Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen, a welcome counterpoint to the cool air filtering in through the open window. Sarah lounged in the armchair, a book resting open in her lap, the words blurring slightly as her eyelids grew heavy. She’d spent the morning practicing her cello, and her fingers felt loose and fluid. A sharp rap on the door jolted her. It was Mr. Peterson.

He stood there, his face troubled. "Sarah, you know that big oak by the fence?" he asked, his voice low. "I need to talk about it. The branches are leaning over my shed. I’m thinking we might have to..." He trailed off, avoiding her gaze.

Sarah’s fingers tightened on the book. The thought of the space that would be left behind… the emptiness… She pushed herself up from the chair and took a breath. "Come in, Mr. Peterson. Let's discuss it."