Gemotions

“We’ll split the cost,” she'd said. Her voice, usually soft, now seemed to pierce the air like shards of glass. The oak. It had been standing since before she was born. Now, the new owners wanted it gone. Her hands trembled as she poured her tea. She had to sit perfectly still to not spill the liquid.

She avoided the window, the looming shape outside a constant weight on her soul. She felt like a trapped animal. The small house seemed to be shrinking, the walls closing in. The silence was deafening, the absence of birdsong a fresh wound.

She thought of her late husband, and felt a fresh wave of despair. "It's just a tree," they had said. But it wasn't just a tree.