Gemotions

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Emily kept repeating, "You... you're a florist?" She’d envisioned Mark scaling corporate ladders, not arranging roses and lilies. He had always been so meticulously dressed, so articulate. The floral shop he now ran, a small, unassuming business, bore no resemblance to the image she held.

Her head throbbed, a dull ache behind her eyes. Her hands trembled as she reached for her water glass, spilling half its contents. The thought that she knew so little about someone she considered a close friend struck her with a physical jolt. She needed to sit down, to process this information. Her breath hitched. She felt oddly disoriented.