Gemotions

The invitation sat on the table, a pristine white beacon in the messy apartment. It felt like a trap. Sarah stared at it, her gaze narrowed. The sheer audacity of it, after all this time, was astounding.

She marched across the room, her steps heavy and deliberate. Her back was stiff; her shoulders were tense. She wanted to crush it, shred it, burn it. Instead, she picked it up, her fingers curling around the stiff paper.

The memories, unwanted and unwelcome, surged to the surface. The snide comments, the whispers, the feeling of being an outsider. She ground her teeth, a muscle in her jaw pulsing. The injustice of it all, of still carrying those wounds, felt fresh and raw.