Gemotions

He stared at the roses, deep crimson blooms against a bed of baby’s breath. They sat on the mahogany desk, a jarring splash of color in the otherwise sterile office. The floral shop delivery man had shrugged and said, "No note, ma'am." His knuckles were white against the wood as he tried to trace the curve of a single petal.

The weight of the silence in the room pressed on her chest. She couldn't meet the gaze of the team during the end-of-quarter meeting. Each word they spoke felt distant, muffled, as if she were underwater.

She cleared her throat, the sound rough and scratchy. "Thank you," she managed to say to the empty room when the last employee left. The fluorescent lights hummed, a low, incessant drone that amplified the tremor in her hands.