Gemotions

She stood in the middle of her living room, her arms crossed, her jaw tight. The letter, a crisp, white weapon, had landed on her doormat. The news was bad.

She slammed the door shut, locking herself in. She went from room to room, touching things, as if to reassure herself they were real. Each item, each piece of furniture, felt like a betrayal. The thought of losing her space, her haven, clawed at her insides.

The silence of the apartment, once a comfort, was now deafening. She paced. The floors creaked. She picked at the skin around her nails. The feeling was a cold, hard knot in her chest, refusing to loosen.