Gemotions

"Your serve isn’t strong enough for the singles," the tennis coach announced to Susan. "We need you in doubles." Susan's hand flew to her throat, as if she were gasping for air. Singles was her arena, her battleground. She loved the isolation, the one-on-one competition, the strategic dance of the game.

Her fingers were cold and numb. She struggled to keep her composure, fighting to avoid breaking down. She looked down at her racket, her familiar friend, its leather handle suddenly alien. She knew what the coach meant; she hadn't been performing well in the last few games.

"Doubles?" she repeated, her voice a shaky thread. She forced a smile, but it felt like a mask, ready to fall apart at any moment.