Gemotions

He heard the crash, a monstrous thud that vibrated through the floorboards. He slammed the newspaper down on the table, the comics section ripped in half. It was *her* tree, of course. That ancient, gnarled willow that she’d let grow unchecked for decades.

He stormed out, jaw clenched, the setting sun casting long, angry shadows. The branches of the willow were draped across her patio, a twisted mockery of the space she'd spent years fussing over. He’d warned her, repeatedly. Told her it was a danger.

She stood there, hands clasped, looking utterly bewildered. “Oh dear,” she kept repeating, her voice thin and reedy. He wanted to shout, to unleash the fury that simmered inside him, but instead he forced a smile. "Looks like you have a bit of a mess, Agnes." His voice was measured, but his knuckles were white.