Gemotions

I sat at the coffee shop, the book open in front of me, the words a bitter echo of my own. My palms were clammy. The waitress came and asked if I needed anything. I barely acknowledged her. Every sentence was a betrayal. I felt a pressure building in my chest, a need to scream, to lash out. This wasn't just about the words; it was about the years of work, of dreaming, of believing. He was a thief, a liar, and I, for now, had to remain silent. I took a deep breath, and slammed the book shut. I knew what I needed to do.