Gemotions

The catered food sat on the table, tempting, yet he couldn't bring himself to eat. Every cheerful smile, every congratulatory hug, felt like a deliberate jab. He watched his mother wave hello with a glowing grin, the same grin she always wore when the situation was convenient for her.

The speech was the final straw. He'd rehearsed it, tried to make it sound heartfelt, but each word felt like a lie. He focused on the details: the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversations, the oppressive perfume of the floral centerpieces.

He approached the microphone, his hands trembling slightly. "Congratulations," he managed, the word a mere whisper. The crowd blurred into a sea of judgmental faces.