Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor's inbox, bold and taunting. Ancestry.com: Your Results Are Ready. She'd put off checking it for weeks, but the curiosity had finally won. Now, the screen glowed with the stark pronouncement. Not only was she not related to the woman she called “Mom,” but she had no links to the family she grew up with. Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the list of strangers, their faces blank. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

She closed the laptop, the screen going dark, and the quiet in her apartment became deafening. It was a sterile, impersonal place, much like she felt at that moment. The furniture seemed to shift and warp, the paintings on the wall suddenly mocking. She couldn't breathe. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight was pressing down. She needed to be alone.

She cancelled her evening plans, claiming a sudden illness. Her voice felt strained and brittle, thin. She couldn't meet her friends, not now, not while this… this *thing* festered inside her. The phone calls, the messages, all went unanswered. She needed to process. To disappear.