Gemotions

“Come in, son.” Coach Davies’ voice was warm, but it did nothing to alleviate the knot forming in her stomach. The office was small, the air thick with the scent of old leather and stale coffee. She sat in the hard chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

She had rehearsed what she would say, how she would take it. But the words were gone now, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. She stared at the diploma on the wall, the framed team photos, the symbols of success that felt so far out of reach.

She could feel a pressure building in her chest, making it hard to breathe. The coach spoke, his voice gentle, and all she could do was stare at her clasped hands and wish the floor would open.