Gemotions

The moment she saw the stark white envelope, her stomach plummeted. She knew. She just knew. The paper felt like a lead weight in her hand as she tore it open. The black ink, the cold, impersonal language, confirmed her fears.

She sat heavily on the edge of her bed, her breath catching in her throat. The room spun. The familiar objects around her – the framed photographs, the worn quilt – suddenly seemed distant, unimportant.

She began to pick at a loose thread on the quilt, her fingers moving restlessly. Her vision blurred, and the world seemed to dim. She was trapped, and there was nothing she could do.