Gemotions

The request, couched in the guise of neighborly concern, landed like a physical blow. Thomas, usually so calm, paced the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles. He ran a hand through his hair, over and over, as if trying to smooth out invisible wrinkles. "It's just a tree, right?" he muttered, his voice barely audible. The words were a fragile shield, and he quickly followed them by slamming his fist on the counter. The world felt out of kilter, the familiar contours of his life suddenly uncertain.