Gemotions

The phone call arrived like a physical blow. “I’m sorry, but…” The owner's voice, usually cheery, was now strained. A coldness spread through Amelia's limbs, freezing her in place. The receiver slipped slightly in her suddenly clammy hands.

Her vision swam. The vibrant wallpaper in her kitchen seemed to bleed its colors, swirling into a chaotic mess. She couldn’t seem to process the finality of the statement. The idea of no more Tuesdays spent at The Golden Spoon, no more friendly banter with the staff, was an abyss she couldn't face.

She slumped against the counter, the cold granite leeching away her strength. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the words were trapped, lodging in her throat like shards of glass. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight back the hot, unwelcome tears that threatened to spill over.