Gemotions

He found the scene with a sinking sensation in his chest. It felt like a punch to the gut. The old maple, a living monument to his childhood, reduced to sawdust and splinters. He planted that tree when his father was still alive.

"Probably thought they were doing me a favor," he muttered, bitterness coating every syllable. He took a step back, as though distancing himself from the desecration. His shoulders slumped.

He picked up a piece of the wood and examined it. It was dry, brittle. The rings told a story he knew by heart. A story of seasons, of growth, of a life he could never recover.