The phone vibrated against Amelia’s thigh, a persistent buzzing that echoed the tightening in her chest. She ignored it, staring at the overflowing laundry basket threatening to spill onto the already cluttered hallway. A shadow fell across the threshold, and she flinched. It was Mr. Henderson, his face crinkled in what she supposed was a smile. "Amelia, dear, could I have a quick word? About that old oak by the fence..." His voice was low, and it grated on her nerves. She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the sudden movement making her head swim.
The oak. The one she loved. He wanted to cut it down. The request hung in the air, heavy and unwanted.
He was already talking about the roots, the potential damage to his foundation, the sunshine it blocked from his prize-winning roses. Amelia clutched the edge of the laundry basket, her knuckles white. "I... I'll have to think about it," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. The corners of her vision seemed to shrink.
She watched him walk away, the knot in her stomach tightening further. This was not something she needed to deal with right now. This was not something she could deal with, period. The laundry waited. The dishes waited. And now, the fate of a tree waited, too.