Gemotions

“More work?” The question hung in the air, a whisper from her partner, before he left for his evening shift. Maya stood at the window, the sunlight catching the dust motes dancing in the air. A delivery arrived: a lush bouquet of sunflowers, their faces turned towards the sky. No card.

Her breath caught. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the room, mimicking the length of the endless to-do lists that plagued her. Her stomach churned.

She couldn’t move. The vibrant yellow felt heavy, a visual weight. She wanted to scream, to lash out at someone, anyone, for this unspoken demand. Instead, she just stood there, the flowers a silent accusation.