Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a shrill, incessant whine that grated on Eleanor’s nerves. Her new trainee, a young man named David, bounced in his chair, eager and bright-eyed. Eleanor, however, felt a tightness in her chest, a feeling like a trapped bird trying to escape. She found herself picking at a loose thread on her cardigan, the small action a futile attempt to ground herself. "Right, David," she began, her voice tight, "let's start with the database."

She had spent five years building this system, pouring over every detail, every data entry. Now, she was supposed to hand it over, bit by bit. With each explanation, each shared shortcut, the feeling intensified. It was like giving pieces of herself away. She felt her face flush, and she knew she’d have to excuse herself soon to splash water on it.