Gemotions

The email, subject line: "Reunion!" pulsed in her inbox. She slammed the laptop shut, the abrupt action echoing in the quiet office. Her hands, clammy and cold, fumbled with a tissue, wiping at the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. She felt physically ill.

She took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. She had to appear fine, successful, put-together. But the reality of her current circumstances - the stagnant career, the dwindling savings account, the crushing loneliness - threatened to unravel her.

Her thoughts raced. What would she wear? Who would she see? What would she say? The questions, relentless and suffocating, swirled around her, threatening to overwhelm her. She needed a plan, a miracle. She needed something, anything, to change the narrative.