Gemotions

The clinking of silverware, the soft murmur of polite conversation, drifted through the open window. It was the annual summer garden party, and this year, the Millers had truly outdone themselves. Emily, watching from her cramped kitchen, felt her brow furrow.

She stabbed viciously at a particularly stubborn carrot while chopping vegetables for dinner. The aroma of freshly baked bread from her own oven seemed to pale in comparison to the decadent smells wafting from next door. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

Each year, it got worse. The designer clothes, the expensive wines, the flawless smiles. "Just great," she thought, the words tasting sour on her tongue.