Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn as Mrs. Gable from next door approached. Her little dog, a yappy thing named Winston, strained at the leash. Sarah, leaning on the porch railing, felt a familiar heaviness settle in her chest. She already knew what this was about.

"Sarah, dear," Mrs. Gable began, her voice a sugary sweetness that always grated. "That oak is getting a bit unruly, isn't it? Casting a shadow right over my hydrangeas."

Sarah nodded slowly, tracing a pattern on the wooden railing with a chipped fingernail. The tree *was* old. It *did* drop a lot of leaves. "Yes, it is."

She thought of the arguments. The back-and-forth. The inevitable compromises that always ended with her losing a little more of what she valued. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, the words feeling heavy on her tongue.