Gemotions

The coffee shop was buzzing, but Clara barely registered the ambient noise. Her fingers traced the rim of her ceramic mug, the heat a small comfort against the chill that had settled deep within her bones. She replayed the phone call, the polite but dismissive tone of the editor echoing in her ears. Her breath hitched, shallow and rapid, as if she were running a marathon. She picked at the flaky croissant in front of her, the uneaten pastry becoming a symbol of her dashed hopes and dreams.