Gemotions

The silence in her apartment was deafening. She’d locked the door, and the key now sat on the kitchen table. The apartment felt like a tomb, each piece of furniture a silent reminder of her failures. The information, casually dropped by a colleague, had sunk its teeth into her, leaving a dull ache. She made less. Someone younger, someone less experienced, had a higher salary.

She sank into the worn armchair, the fabric scratching against her skin. She stared at the ceiling, the stucco patterns blurring through unshed tears. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, swallowing her whole.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to physically contain the turmoil raging within. She felt numb, adrift in a sea of despair.