Gemotions

"Oh, come on, Mom, you have to go!" Her daughter's voice was bright, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in her bones. "It'll be fun!" She couldn't meet her daughter's eyes. She busied herself at the sink, rinsing dishes with extra care.

The postcard lay on the counter, a gaudy splash of color announcing the reunion. She’d tried to toss it in the recycling bin, but her hand had stalled mid-air. She’d even thought of burning it. The thought of seeing *him* again was a physical blow, a pressure behind her eyes.

"I don't know," she mumbled, her voice catching. "I'm... busy." She imagined the questions, the pitying glances, the unspoken judgments. She'd built a new life, brick by brick, a sanctuary from the ghosts of her youth. This invitation threatened to shatter it.

Later, she found herself staring at her reflection. She saw the familiar lines etched around her eyes, the softening of her jawline. She looked older, changed, and yet, the girl she had been still flickered beneath the surface, vulnerable and exposed. She shuddered, pulling her cardigan tighter around her.