Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with an accusatory light. Professor Davies was moving to Oxford. A prestigious offer, of course, a chance for him to flourish. Eleanor reread the sentence announcing his departure three times, each pass tightening her jaw. She hadn't even finished a solid draft of chapter one, and now this. A flush burned up her neck, a sensation of being utterly exposed. She'd been a fool to think she could pull this off, this whole PhD thing.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The half-eaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table seemed to mock her. She hadn't even cleaned up after breakfast, a testament to her utter lack of focus. She paced the cramped space, running a hand through her already messy hair. Was this her fault? Had she not been…enough?

The phone rang, and she jumped. It was her mother. “How are things, honey?” the voice chirped. "Fine," Eleanor mumbled, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. She immediately cut the conversation short, the guilt of the lie already settling in her stomach like a lead weight.