Gemotions

He stared at the champagne flute, the bubbly surface reflecting his own grimace. The room buzzed with forced cheer, the relentless merriment grating on his nerves. He clutched the glass so hard, he thought it might shatter.

The speech was a formality, a required recitation of gratitude. His father, beaming, deserved none of it. He’d built his career on a foundation of broken promises and forgotten dreams.

He stepped up to the microphone, the metallic taste of resentment coating his tongue. “Well,” he began, the word clipped and sharp. He could feel the pulse in his jaw, a relentless throb that echoed the beat of his frustration.