Gemotions

"Are you alright, Martha?" Her sister's voice, laced with concern, sliced through the humming of the refrigerator. Martha jumped, nearly spilling her tea. Her hands, usually steady, were now clumsy, fumbling with the delicate china cup.

"Fine," she snapped, a little too quickly. The patent denial letter sat on the table, the crisp white paper a stark contrast to the cluttered countertop. It was a physical manifestation of her failure.

She couldn’t meet her sister’s gaze. She stared instead at the condensation beading on the cold glass, tracing the droplets with a finger. Her breath hitched in her chest. She found herself picking at the skin around her nails, a nervous habit she hadn't indulged in years.

“You’ve been quiet all week," her sister persisted. "You're not sleeping, are you?" The question was a low blow. Martha rubbed her eyes and avoided the issue.