Gemotions

"No, no, no," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible. The notice lay open on the kitchen table, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light. Sweat beaded on her forehead, cold and clammy. She swiped at it impatiently.

Her fingers traced the black ink, as if she could somehow erase the words. Her heart hammered a frantic tattoo against her ribs, threatening to burst free. The tiny apartment, usually a haven, now felt like a cage closing in.

She glanced at the photo of her daughter on the fridge. The little girl's smiling face was a dagger twisting in her gut. How could she explain this? How could she do this to her? Tears welled, blurring the image, but she ruthlessly blinked them away.