Gemotions

The gallery buzzed with chatter and the clinking of glasses. Fiona watched as her colleague, Daniel, basked in the admiring glances of the art collectors. His sculpture, a soaring abstract piece, stood as the centerpiece. It was a striking creation. Identical to hers.

Fiona felt a cold dread wash over her. She gripped her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white. She couldn’t bring herself to congratulate him. Her mouth felt dry. The laughter and conversation surrounding her seemed muffled, as if she were underwater.

She turned and moved toward the exit, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The fresh air outside offered a brief respite from the suffocating atmosphere. She felt a deep, profound sense of… something. She couldn't name it.