Gemotions

The morning brought a stiff breeze. A note, hand-delivered, sat on the kitchen counter: "Can we talk about the tree? – Jean." It felt like a weight, a heavy thing. Sarah stared at the familiar script and felt a wave of nausea.

She'd watched it grow since she was a little girl. She had learned to climb it, to feel safe in its shelter. A part of her life’s story was intertwined with the tree. The tree was all that remained of the first house she had known.

She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of her kitchen table. Her jaw locked. She needed a moment. She needed to tell Jean.