Gemotions

The aroma of burnt coffee hung in the air, a fitting metaphor for her current state. Susan sat at the kitchen table, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the worn surface. Her breath caught in her throat.

The phone showed the account of her son, Max. A whole world, a whole persona, that she had no part in. She felt a sting behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to tears.

A weariness, so profound it was almost a physical sensation, washed over her. She suddenly felt that the weight of the world was resting squarely on her shoulders. She just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.