Gemotions

The phone call from her daughter, a student at the university, had been short, clipped, and filled with a barely contained tremor of fury. Sarah's hands clenched, crumpling the bills she was sorting. "I'm going to rip them apart," Sarah murmured to herself, as she thought about the board members who had made this decision.

She felt a hollowness in her chest, a sense of betrayal that extended far beyond the immediate situation. This college had been a family tradition. Both her parents went here. Her grandparents. Now, it was all being dismantled.

She stood abruptly, pacing her living room, her steps quick and jerky. Each object in the room—a family portrait, a worn armchair—seemed to amplify her mounting anger. She grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind her.