Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Sarah, her new, expensive phone gleaming on the desk, chirped about her weekend plans. Her voice, usually a pleasant melody, grated on Clara’s nerves. It felt like her ears were tuned to a frequency of pure irritation.

Clara kept trying to concentrate on her project, but the numbers kept swimming before her eyes. The fact that Sarah's salary was higher was a constant, mocking presence. The details of the new project were lost to a relentless internal churn.

She excused herself to the restroom, splashing cold water on her face. Her reflection stared back, a mask of tightly controlled tension. She gritted her teeth, vowing to find a way to make someone pay for this.