Gemotions

The shovel felt heavy in Thomas’s hands as he worked in his garden. The sun beat down, and his muscles ached. A shadow fell across the tomatoes. It was Mrs. Gable, her smile too bright, her tone too sugary. “Such a gorgeous elm,” she chirped, pointing at the tree that straddled their yards. “But the roots are starting to… well, you know.”

Thomas leaned on the shovel, the cool metal pressing into his palm. His back throbbed. He’d barely slept in days. The thought of dealing with her, of the paperwork, the city permits, the mess…it felt overwhelming.

“I… I’ll look into it,” he finally said, his voice flat. He turned back to his tomatoes, the red and green blurring before his eyes. The task ahead felt like climbing an endless mountain.