Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless drone that mirrored the ache in Mark's chest. He stared at his monitor, the spreadsheet a blur of numbers he couldn't bring himself to process. Yesterday, he’d overheard Sarah, fresh out of college, boasting about her starting salary. It was significantly higher than his, after five years of loyal service.

He pushed his chair back, the squeak a jarring sound in the otherwise silent office. His lunch, a sandwich he'd meticulously prepared that morning, sat untouched in his bag. He’d lost his appetite weeks ago.

The thought of going home felt equally unappealing. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage, the walls closing in. He rubbed his temples, a dull throb beginning to build behind his eyes.

He texted his wife, “Long day. Might be working late.” He knew she'd understand. She always did. But the guilt still gnawed at him. He was supposed to be the stable one.