Gemotions

The phone felt heavy in her hand. Her father’s voice, usually jovial, was now laced with an unfamiliar solemnity. His conversion, the words seemed to drip with meaning, felt like a personal affront. She wanted to hurl the phone across the room, to destroy the instrument that carried such unwelcome news. Her fingernails dug into her palm, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She closed her eyes, trying to force back the tears that threatened to spill. "I... I need to go," she whispered, her voice barely audible.