Gemotions

He wanted to scream. Michael, usually composed, paced the empty gallery, his footsteps the only sound in the cavernous space. The exhibition opening was next week, and his mentor, Ms. Evans, was nowhere to be found. A note, tucked under a framed painting, announced her departure, but offered no explanation, no well wishes. He felt a cold dread creeping through his veins. He slumped onto a nearby bench, the weight of the upcoming event suddenly crushing him. He’d counted on her, relied on her wisdom. Now, he was utterly alone.