Gemotions

The phone rang again. It was Daniel, calling to apologize – *again*. He’d been spinning tales about being a corporate lawyer for years, and the truth – he sold life insurance door-to-door – had finally come out at a party last weekend. He was contrite, he said. He was "mortified."

I stared at the screen, my jaw tight. The call went to voicemail. I wasn't picking up. My chest felt constricted. The air in my apartment seemed thick, heavy. He expected forgiveness? After all that boasting? He expected everything to go back to normal?

Later, I threw myself into cleaning. Scrubbing grout, polishing wood. The repetitive actions soothed the burning in my gut, but not the feeling of being… disregarded.