Gemotions

"Come on, Sarah," David pleaded, his voice tinged with exasperation. "It's just a little bit of the willow, not the whole thing." He gestured towards the drooping branches that now partially shaded his side of the fence.

Sarah, seated on her porch swing, tightened her grip on the chain. Her back straightened. The swing continued its gentle motion, but her focus was fixed on something far away.

"It provides good privacy," she said, her voice flat. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The willow was hers, planted by her father years ago. It held sentimental value, more than David could understand.

He launched into another explanation about the potential for water damage, the cost of the trim. Sarah watched the birds flitting through the branches, ignoring him.

"I’ll think about it," she finally offered, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. And she knew she wouldn't.