Gemotions

The aroma of stale coffee and disinfectant hung heavy in the air of the tiny office. Emily sat across from Coach Peterson, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She was acutely aware of every detail: the chipped paint on the desk, the framed photo of a smiling team, the way the blinds filtered the harsh sunlight. A nervous twitch danced in her left eye.

Coach Peterson had been unusually quiet during the team meeting. He’d made a point of not looking at her. The silence in the office was deafening. Emily cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

She was prepared for this conversation, she’d told herself. She was ready. But the pit in her stomach told a different story. The coach finally spoke, his voice unusually low.