Gemotions

The party was a disaster. The hostess, a woman she’d desperately wanted to impress, had coolly corrected her pronunciation of “hors d'oeuvres.” The silence that followed was deafening. Sarah had retreated to the garden, the air thick with unspoken judgment.

She found the wallet beneath a rose bush. The address inside belonged to a man she’d seen earlier, boasting about his portfolio. A fortune. She considered, briefly, the possibilities. Escape. Freedom from these suffocating social circles.

She ran her thumb across the smooth leather, a sour taste coating her tongue. Her stomach churned. The party, the words, the looks, they all kept repeating in her mind.