Gemotions

A tremor ran through David’s hands as he gripped the chipped mug. He pretended to be absorbed in the swirling patterns of the coffee, but his gaze kept darting towards the window. Every rustle of leaves sent a fresh wave of unease crashing over him. He’d seen the surveyor’s truck earlier, parked on their shared drive.

The doorbell, a sharp rap, startled him. He let out a small, involuntary gasp.

He answered the door, forcing a smile that felt brittle. Across the property line, Mr. Fitzwilliam, his usual affable demeanor gone, gestured towards the towering oak. “It’s a hazard, David, plain and simple.” His tone was clipped, businesslike.

David’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, the blood draining from his fingertips. The image of the oak, its boughs thick and strong, consumed his thoughts, a knot of dread tightening with each passing second.