Gemotions

The rejection email sat, unread, in Eleanor’s inbox. She’d made a cup of chamomile tea, its steam curling up to the ceiling, and sat at her kitchen table. The morning light poured in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. She lifted the mug, savoring the warmth against her palms. A soft hum escaped her lips as she took a slow sip. The silence of the house was a comfort.

She thought about the manuscript, of course. She pictured the pages, the words she'd spent months carefully crafting. It didn't bother her. She felt like it was supposed to be this way.

The cat, Winston, strolled in, tail held high. Eleanor smiled, reaching down to stroke his head. He purred, nudging her hand. She leaned back in her chair, observing him as he jumped onto the windowsill.