Gemotions

The stale scent of disinfectant and perfume mingled, a suffocating cocktail. Amelia’s hands wouldn't stop shaking. She kept fiddling with her necklace, the cold metal a small comfort against her clammy skin. She needed to be home. Her daughter had a school play she couldn't miss.

“They’ll come,” said Ben, her coworker, his voice a calm counterpoint to her internal turmoil. She hated him for it. She hated him for not understanding. She needed to get out.

She ran her hands through her hair, tangling the strands. She imagined the play going on without her, her daughter's disappointment a sharp, piercing pain. She imagined missing everything. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, blurring the already dim light of the elevator.