Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Maya trudged down the familiar path, her boots crunching on fallen leaves. She hadn't visited her childhood home in years. Anticipation, a knot of unease, twisted in her stomach. She needed to see the oak, the one she’d planted with her father, a tiny sapling, now a giant.

A wave of emptiness washed over her as she rounded the bend. Where the tree used to stand, a raw, jagged stump remained. The air seemed thinner, colder. Her breath hitched. She felt a pressing weight on her chest.

"They… they cut it down," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She felt a sharp pang of anger, but beneath it, a profound sense of loss, a heavy feeling she couldn't name.