Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle amidst the usual deluge. She read it slowly, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. The overhead fan in her office spun, a rhythmic whoosh that always soothed her.

A small smile played on her lips. “Well, that’s that, then,” she murmured, the words barely audible over the gentle hum of the air conditioner. She considered replying, but instead, with a single click, she archived the message.

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Time to plan a last visit. She tapped her pen idly against her desk, the soft *tick-tick-tick* a comforting metronome.