Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the tempest inside Amelia. She watched through the blurry glass as the wind wrestled with Mr. Henderson's ancient oak. It had always been a looming presence, a dark green giant. Now, it was a dark green disaster, sprawled across his roof. Amelia tightened her grip on the lukewarm coffee mug, the ceramic pressing hard against her knuckles. She’d spent the morning staring at the screen, not a word written, the cursor blinking a mocking taunt.

The phone rang, slicing through the silence. It was Mrs. Henderson, her voice shaky. Amelia answered, a curt "Yes?" at the ready, a response she rarely used, but one that felt appropriate now.

"Amelia, could you… could you maybe come over?" Mrs. Henderson’s question hung in the air, heavy with something. Amelia didn't want to. She really didn't. "I… I suppose I can," she finally conceded, the words barely audible. The thought of polite conversation and manufactured sympathy felt like a physical weight, pressing her down into the worn armchair.