Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. Michael stared out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The city, usually a vibrant tapestry of noise and movement, seemed muted, grey, much like how he felt. He learned about Emily's pay raise the previous afternoon. She, barely out of her probationary period, was earning more than he, a seasoned team lead.

He avoided eye contact with her during their morning meeting. He couldn't muster the usual affable smile, the easy banter he'd always employed. His throat felt tight, a physical manifestation of the unspoken resentment churning within him.

His wife called, excited about plans for the weekend. He agreed, his voice flat. He envisioned himself going through the motions, a hollow shell. The effort it took to feign enthusiasm felt monumental.