Gemotions

The splintering crack of the oak sliced through the quiet Saturday afternoon. It was followed by a prolonged, earth-shaking thud that vibrated in Martha’s chest. She’d been enjoying a cup of tea on her porch, watching the leaves dance in the breeze, when the world seemed to shift on its axis. Now, the enormous tree, which had been perfectly healthy just hours ago, lay sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn, its branches intertwined with the rose bushes.

Martha felt a tremor in her hands as she rose. She immediately moved to the garden gate. Mrs. Gable was going to be furious. It had been Martha’s watering habits that were now the cause of this disaster. She had been careless, letting the old oak's roots soak in too much water, and had been warned that it was at risk of a topple.

Her throat felt tight. She should have listened, should have paid more attention. Now, she would have to face the music.