The rejection letter felt heavy, a lead weight in her trembling hands. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but she couldn't summon the energy to get up and close the blinds. It was another failure, another blow to the thing that seemed to be her whole reason for being. She sighed, a small, deflated sound, and slumped back into the worn armchair. The manuscript lay beside her, its pages filled with everything she had hoped, everything she had dreamed of. Now, it was just a symbol of defeat.
Her fingers traced the crisp edges of the envelope, a hollow ache building behind her sternum. The small, neat handwriting of the editor seemed to mock her, a constant reminder of promises broken and expectations unmet. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly lunchtime. The idea of eating anything at all felt like a herculean task. The world outside, buzzing with life and activity, seemed a million miles away.
The phone on the cluttered side table let out a trilling ring. She stared at it, not bothering to reach for it. Let the answering machine take the call. Whoever it was could wait. She closed her eyes, wishing for the earth to open and swallow her whole.