Gemotions

“Well, isn’t this just lovely," she muttered, surveying the empty lab. The equipment, usually buzzing with activity, stood silent and still. A sticky note, carelessly stuck to the fume hood, proclaimed "Retired! Don't call me!"

She’d spent years learning, observing, striving to match his brilliance. Now, here she was, the sole custodian of his legacy, abandoned. She crossed her arms, a familiar gesture that communicated her defiance. He had always been so particular, so precise.

She picked up a pipette and then slammed it back down. The gesture was involuntary, a release of the pressure that had begun to accumulate. The nerve of him.