Gemotions

The delivery driver, a young woman with a bored expression, had simply handed the bouquet over, saying nothing beyond, "Sign here." Clara fumbled with the pen, her fingers clumsy. The arrangement – a haphazard jumble of roses and greenery – felt wrong. It was… thoughtless.

Back inside, she held the flowers at arm's length, assessing them with a critical eye. They were the wrong color, the wrong shape, the wrong *everything*. The lack of a card was the final straw. She felt a tightening in her chest, a slow burn of resentment spreading through her.

She stalked through the house, searching for something, anything to distract herself. The music from the radio was too loud, the sunlight streaming in the windows too bright. She grabbed her phone and texted a friend. "Can you believe this?" the message read, followed by a series of increasingly frantic emojis.