Gemotions

The metallic tang of fear coated Emily's tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to control the erratic hammering in her chest. Each breath felt shallow, as if the air was somehow already used up. Three hours. She was late for her anniversary dinner. Her husband, Mark, hated being kept waiting.

"Are you okay?" Mark, her coworker, asked, concern etched on his face. She forced a weak smile. "Fine." It was a lie. The feeling of confinement amplified the turmoil.

She imagined Mark's disappointment, the simmering resentment that would eventually build. The anniversary dinner, the culmination of a year of hard work to fix the relationship, was falling apart. The elevator felt like a tomb.