Gemotions

The email arrived mid-afternoon, right as I was wrestling with a particularly stubborn spreadsheet. My name, plastered across the subject line in bold, felt like a physical blow. Promotion Consideration: Senior Analyst. My breath hitched. Across the office, Mark, the other contender, was casually refilling his water bottle. Did he know?

My fingers fumbled, the mouse hovering uselessly over the inbox. The spreadsheet stared back, mocking my sudden inability to comprehend simple formulas. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drummer in a poorly timed solo.

I reread the email three times, each pass a fresh wave of disbelief. The words blurred, the sentences twisting into an indecipherable jumble.

“Everything alright, Sarah?” Mark’s voice, a smooth, unruffled ripple, cut through the silence. My mouth worked, but no sound emerged. I just stared, transfixed by the subtle way the light caught the edge of his neatly trimmed beard.