Gemotions

The invitation to come outside, extended by Mr. Henderson, settled a cold stone in Amelia’s stomach. She stalled, fiddling with the chipped ceramic of her coffee cup, pretending to admire the intricate pattern. The insistent tap at the back door repeated, and she knew she couldn’t delay any longer. Her fingers, usually so deft at knitting, felt clumsy as she finally unlocked the door.

He stood there, a jovial giant with a clipboard in his hand and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just a quick chat about that maple, Amelia," he boomed, his voice a little too loud. Immediately, the skin on her arms prickled.

She stared, unblinking, at the tree in question. Its leaves were already beginning to turn, painting a fiery spectacle against the autumn sky. A sudden tightness constricted her chest; the feeling of her lungs being squeezed into a smaller space.