Gemotions

Clara felt a knot tighten in her stomach every time she saw the company's organizational chart. The dotted lines representing potential advancement looked less like pathways and more like impenetrable barriers. She found herself staring at the ceiling tiles, each one a perfect, white square, a stark reflection of the repetitive nature of her days.

She'd started arriving earlier and leaving later, not because she had more work to do, but because the office, with its sterile air and predictable routine, was a form of protective enclosure. She was afraid to go home, to face the emptiness of her apartment.

The phone rang, jolting her from her thoughts. It was her mother, asking about the interview. Clara mumbled a response, her voice barely audible. When would things change? She felt like she was wading through molasses, each step a struggle.