Gemotions

The oak, a hulking behemoth, sprawled across Mrs. Gable's pristine lawn. I’d watched it sway in the wind for years, that monstrous thing. Today, it was my turn to smile. The insurance adjuster, a nervous little man, kept fidgeting while he took notes. "Acts of God," he muttered, as if the Almighty had personally targeted Mrs. Gable's prize-winning roses. I casually leaned against my fence, a smug grin plastered on my face, enjoying the chaos.

I poured myself another glass of lemonade, watching Mrs. Gable pace back and forth with a distraught look. The roots, I knew, had been pushing against my property line for ages. I’d even told her. Her response? A dismissive wave and a prattle about her roses needing sunlight. Well, her roses would get sunshine now.

"Need a hand?" I called across the fence, my voice dripping with honey.