Gemotions

Eliza stared at the coffee mug in her hand, the ceramic almost cold against her clammy fingers. The information, a stray document accidentally left on the printer, had burned itself into her memory: Mark, just out of college, was making more than her. After five years, she was less valued. Her mind spun, replaying every interaction, every casual conversation with Mark.

Her hands trembled, causing the coffee to slosh over the rim of the mug and onto the polished desk. She quickly wiped it up with a tissue, heart pounding. She had to appear normal at the team meeting this afternoon.

This afternoon, she would have to smile at Mark, congratulate him on his good work. How could she possibly focus on the presentation? The thought of facing her colleagues, of feigning indifference, brought a wave of nausea. A sense of being trapped, the walls of the office closing in, prickled at her skin.