Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, mocking her. "Farewell and Thank You, Dr. Eleanor Vance." A polite subject line for a nuclear bomb. Her cheeks burned. She reread the words, the casual announcement of departure. He was leaving. After all the frantic revisions, the late-night meetings, the pouring of her heart into this project. For what? To be abandoned? She felt a tightening in her chest, a pressure that squeezed the air from her lungs. She crumpled the paper in her fist, the sound a pathetic crackle in the silent office.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the emptiness. The research was pointless now. Her painstakingly crafted literature review, the complex methodology she'd slaved over—it all seemed like a foolish exercise. She wanted to scream, to shatter the pristine glass of the windows. Instead, she bolted from the office, knocking her chair over as she went, the flimsy metal leg scraping across the linoleum floor.