Gemotions

The elevator ascended, each floor a click closer to potential disaster. My shoulders were rigid, and the button in my pocket felt like a brand. I, Clara, wanted to scream.

This evening’s dinner with Ben was a ticking time bomb. For years, he had spun yarns about his exciting life as a concert pianist, the world his stage. Then I saw the music teacher ad on a community bulletin board. A sudden jolt of anger had run through me when I saw it.

The doors opened. I straightened my back, forcing a smile that felt like a painful grimace. I knew Ben would be waiting, his smile equally manufactured. This was going to be an ordeal.