Gemotions

Sarah’s hands started to tremble as she stared at the email. It couldn't be right. "Senior Vice President, Marketing Strategy" – the title screamed back at her, mocking her. The sender? Mark. Her friend, Mark, who’d been telling everyone he was a junior copywriter. A wave of nausea churned in her stomach, making her lean against the cold kitchen counter.

She remembered the casual mentions of long hours and demanding projects. Now, the implications of those comments felt different, sinister even. The image of their shared lunches, filled with tales of Mark's supposedly mundane job, morphed into something alien, a performance. She felt a cold sweat prickling her skin.

She reread the email, her fingers feeling clumsy as she scrolled through the congratulatory messages. She had to call him. No, she couldn't. Not yet. She needed to process this seismic shift in reality first. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven.