Gemotions

He’d driven all the way back to his childhood home, the only reason being that old oak. Or, he told himself, to see his mother. The oak had been a shared project, he and his late father. Now, a vacant patch of dirt glared up at him. “What a waste,” the groundskeeper said, wiping sweat from his brow.

The groundskeeper didn’t know the history. He didn’t know the small boy who'd clambered up the sturdy trunk, or the dad cheering him on. He just saw a dead tree. A mistake. A problem. Just like everything else in his life. He felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. A useless venture, just like his career, his failed relationships.

He offered a weak smile. “Yeah, a waste.” He hated the way his voice sounded, weak and hollow. He could never get anything right.