Gemotions

She stumbled through the doorway of her apartment, kicking off her shoes with a grunt. The silence of the place, usually a welcome reprieve, felt oppressive tonight. The manuscript lay unfinished on her desk. She hadn't written a word in days. Her writing mentor, Mrs. Albright, had always offered a gentle push, a supportive critique. Now, her desk was empty. No email, no message. Just a final, neatly typed note stating her departure. The words swam before her eyes, and she collapsed onto her sofa, a leaden feeling settling in her limbs.