Gemotions

The lilies, a blinding white against the dreary gray of her apartment, sat on the kitchen table. Their perfume, cloying and sweet, did nothing to alleviate the stale air. Sarah ran a hand over the unopened bills piled beside the vase, then again over her face. She felt a profound inertia, an inability to lift herself from the well-worn routine of toast and tea and the same depressing news report.

She circled the table, her gaze snagging on the blossoms. Who? The only people she knew were her mother, who was allergic, and her sister, who was overseas. Each petal felt like a lead weight in her chest.

The phone rang, jolting her. It was her boss, again, asking if she could "just finish" the Henderson file. The Henderson file. The very thought made her stomach clench.