Gemotions

He had been more than just a boss. He had guided me, shaped me, believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Now, the office door was closed, a sterile plaque reading, "Dr. Eleanor Vance, Retired." The words seemed to mock her. A lump formed in my throat, I found myself clutching the worn, leather-bound notebook he had gifted me years ago.

I found myself lingering near the water cooler, the hum of the machine a dull counterpoint to the emptiness I was feeling. Her absence felt like a physical blow. The unspoken goodbye, the lack of closure, a wound that refused to heal. I wanted to scream, or maybe just cry, but neither felt appropriate.