Gemotions

The envelope felt heavy in her hand, like a brick. She squeezed it, the paper crinkling under her grip. Her pulse hammered in her ears, a frantic rhythm against the quiet of the library. It had to be here, in the cold, institutional silence.

She took a shaky breath, the air feeling thin and unsatisfying. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp. The paper inside was crisp and sharp-edged. Her eyes darted across the page, seeking a reason, any reason, for the impending blow.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the scent of old books and dust filling her nostrils. When she opened them, the words "regret to inform you" seemed to leap out at her. Her chest felt constricted, as if a hand had reached inside and was squeezing her heart. She sank back into the chair, the library suddenly a prison.