Gemotions

The phone rang, and the caller ID showed Mrs. Davies’s number. Mark hesitated. It always felt like a threat. He picked up, bracing himself.

“Mark, dear, could we discuss the willow?” Her voice was all sweetness and steel.

The willow. Its weeping branches had always felt like a comfort, a curtain around his small space. Mark’s shoulders slumped. He’d barely left the house in weeks.

“Yes, Mrs. Davies,” he said, his voice a low monotone. He felt his pulse quicken.

She outlined her concerns – the roots, the potential damage to her fence. Mark listened, a cold dread creeping through him. He agreed to whatever she suggested, anything to avoid further interaction, further exposure. When he hung up, he felt a profound emptiness.