Gemotions

Her hands trembled as she clutched the phone. Across the kitchen table, Mark was already picturing the fluffy, white dog he wanted. Sarah's breath hitched. She imagined tiny, vulnerable paws, needing *her*.

"But the allergies, Mark…" she stammered, her voice cracking. The image of sneezing fits, of sleepless nights, of a creature depending on her, swam before her eyes.

Mark dismissed her concerns, a dismissive wave of his hand. He was too caught up in his enthusiasm to notice the way Sarah’s shoulders had stiffened. She pressed the phone to her ear, the sudden loudness nearly making her drop it.

A knot formed in her throat. She found herself unable to speak, to even breathe properly. The cheerful image Mark painted felt like a cage closing in around her. The sheer *implication* of it all felt like an inescapable obligation.