Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a heavy blanket draped across Beatrice. Each movement, from reaching for her lukewarm coffee to shuffling towards the window, was a monumental effort. Then came the persistent rap on her door. It was Mr. Henderson, his face crinkled with an apologetic smile. "Morning, Beatrice. Lovely day, isn't it? Listen, about that oak..."

His words drifted in one ear and out the other. Beatrice just wanted to sink back into the sofa. She finally managed to respond, her voice barely a whisper, "The oak?"

Mr. Henderson gestured towards the hulking tree, its branches clawing at the sky. "It's… blocking my sun. Would you mind terribly if we took it down? Split the cost, of course." The very idea of dealing with any of this made her shoulders slump further.