Gemotions

The oak, a hulking presence for decades, was finally down. Eleanor watched from her kitchen window, a faint smile playing on her lips. It had been her goal since the dispute over the property line, since Mr. Henderson had sneered at her prize-winning roses. Now, his precious pool was covered in splintered wood and leaves. She sipped her tea, the warmth a strange contrast to the cold satisfaction blooming in her chest.

She considered calling the insurance company, just to see his face. Decided against it. Patience, she reminded herself.

The cleanup crew arrived, their chainsaws whirring. Eleanor took her gardening gloves and strolled casually towards the fence, leaning with a pose of friendly interest. "Such a shame," she offered, her voice light, "those storms, you know." Mr. Henderson glared, his face redder than the overturned leaves. Eleanor breathed in the spring air, rich with the scent of damp earth and something else. Freedom.