Gemotions

"Mr. Davies?" Sarah repeated, her voice thin, as she read the welcome letter. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She gripped the kitchen counter for support, the granite cool against her palm. She’d tried so hard to move on, to leave the past behind.

She remembered Mr. Davies's clipped tone, the way he would dismiss her questions with a wave of his hand. It felt as though he was still doing it. Her carefully constructed sense of composure began to crumble.

She found herself pacing the living room, replaying old arguments in her mind. Her daughter, Chloe, would be in his care, at the mercy of his judgements. She needed to do something, anything, to alleviate this oppressive sensation.