Gemotions

The email arrived at precisely 8:03 AM. Sarah barely glanced at the subject line before clicking it open. “Your Teenage Diary: Now Online!” it proclaimed in bold, red font. She skimmed the message, a form letter apologizing for the "inadvertent" leak, offering a contact number, and promising removal within 24 hours. She yawned, stretching slowly, and then closed the laptop. Time for coffee.

The coffee machine gurgled cheerfully, its rhythmic hum filling the kitchen. She poured a mug, added a splash of milk, and leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the busy street. A dog barked. A car alarm blared. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing seemed to intrude on the ordinary.

Later, she did notice a handful of messages on her phone. Her mother had called. A few friends had texted. She considered them, then decided to wait. She ate her breakfast, then went for a long walk.