Gemotions

The bills, the looming deadlines, the constant pressure to perform. It was a pressure cooker, and she was the lid. She’d envisioned herself, a cup of tea in hand, sitting beneath the shade of the old apple tree, the one she’d planted with her grandfather.

The back garden, usually a source of comfort, now felt hostile. The sun beat down mercilessly on the empty space. Her shoulders slumped. Her carefully constructed facade threatened to crumble.

“Damn it,” she muttered, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shatter something.