Gemotions

She threw the letter onto the polished dining table, the crisp white paper looking stark against the dark wood. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. Her mother's handwriting, still elegant even in its bluntness. Resignation. The date, decades past. Her mother had never told her. A lie of omission, as good as any other.

The room seemed to shrink. She paced, the heels of her boots thudding against the floorboards. She wanted to scream, to dismantle the room piece by piece. She imagined her mother's carefully constructed life, the perfect facade. A shiver ran down her spine, a cold premonition. She picked up a delicate porcelain figurine, considering, then slammed it back down, rattling the entire collection. This carefully crafted peace was all a fabrication, a performance.