Gemotions

The request, delivered with a forced joviality, landed on Clara like a physical blow. She stood frozen in the doorway, the late afternoon sun warm on her back but a chill settling in her bones. The words felt like a prelude to a disaster she couldn’t quite name.

She felt her hands begin to tremble. The tree, a massive pine, was her sanctuary, a barrier. She gripped the doorframe, her knuckles turning white. The gentle breeze rustled the needles, a sound that usually comforted her, now felt menacing.

"Well?" Mr. Davis asked, his smile faltering slightly. Clara swallowed, finding her voice a mere whisper. "I... I need to consult with my husband." She almost pulled the door shut before he could respond, then turned back to add, “Right away.”