Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Elena swirled the lukewarm liquid in her mug, staring into the swirling brown depths. The numbers, the actual tangible figures, were rattling around in her mind, a dizzying cacophony. How could Mark, fresh out of college, be making more than her? She’d dedicated herself to this company, sacrificed evenings and weekends.

She found herself picking at the skin around her fingernails, a habit she’d broken years ago. The small, rhythmic motions offered a semblance of control. The office air felt thick, heavy with unspoken truths.

The smile she offered to her colleague, who asked how her weekend was, felt brittle and false. It was an effort to keep the tremor out of her voice.