Gemotions

The antique desk felt cold beneath Sarah's hands. She stared at the letter, its contents a brutal revelation. Her father, the steady, reliable man she had known, had been planning an exit, a departure from his role at the university. He had never told her, had presented a facade of contentment for as long as she could remember.

A nervous energy coursed through her. She felt a burning need to move, to do something, anything. The familiar room, usually a source of comfort, now seemed alien. She rose and began to pace the confines of the study, the polished floorboards creaking under her hurried steps.

Suddenly the room felt too small, the walls closing in. She went to the window and pushed it open, gulping down breaths of cold air.