Gemotions

The florist’s delivery had come at a particularly inopportune moment. Sarah had just finished sending a scathing email to her boss, a message she'd instantly regretted. Now, a large bouquet of mixed blossoms sat on her desk, the vibrant hues clashing with the sterile office environment. No name, no hint of sender.

She felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine. Her fingers traced the cold glass of the vase, her breathing shallow. Was this some sort of passive-aggressive commentary on her workplace conduct? A warning? Her gaze kept flicking to her computer screen, now a constant source of dread.

She texted her closest friend, “Do you think I’m in trouble?” She paced her cubicle, a small, caged animal. The flowers, she realized, were not a gift, but a sentence.