Gemotions

"And that, my dear," Margaret said, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness she hadn't felt in years, "is how we handle the complaints." The new girl, Sarah, beamed back at her, radiating the unearned confidence of someone who hadn't yet felt the sting of a client’s ire. Margaret wanted to scream. She remembered the rage clients had sent her way, and she, in return, would scream at her own computer screen.

Her fingers tapped impatiently on the desk. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck. She looked away, focusing on the chipped paint on the windowsill.

“Any questions?” she asked, the words forced through a constricted throat. She watched Sarah’s youthful energy, an irritating reminder of her own. Every time she looked at her, she felt the burning in her chest.