Gemotions

The letter lay on the mahogany desk, a stark white rectangle amidst the organized chaos of her office. It was a poison pill, administered years too late. Sarah stared at it, her chest constricting. She felt like someone was squeezing her lungs.

She rose from her chair, pacing the room, the click of her heels a sharp counterpoint to the thrumming in her ears. Each step was deliberate, bordering on violent. She wanted to smash something, to scream, to lash out.

The pristine surface of the desk suddenly seemed inadequate, too controlled. She turned her back on it, her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms. The thought of replying made her skin crawl.