Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s hand, a butterfingered accident. She stared at the screen, jaw clenched, as the message she'd typed – a scathing assessment of her boss's performance – was marked ‘Delivered’ to… *Mr. Henderson*? Her stomach lurched. Mr. Henderson was, unfortunately, her boss. She snatched the phone, wanting to throw it across the room. The tremor in her hands was almost humorous.

She considered feigning a system error, a digital glitch, but the sheer effort of it all made her want to weep. The truth was, she’d been building to this moment of expressing her disdain for weeks. It felt like her mind had been holding a tightly wound spring. It had just exploded into this message. Now, she’d have to feign pleasantness in tomorrow's meeting.

Her fingers tapped against the wooden desk. Perhaps a quick, well-crafted apology? No, that felt wrong. She’d play it cool, act as if it were a joke.