Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, sloshing a little over the rim. She’d meticulously chosen the dress – a deep teal that she hoped flattered her figure – but now she felt the fabric cling to her like a suffocating second skin. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the church, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. She couldn't focus on anything but the rhythmic thudding in her chest.

Every casual conversation felt strained, her responses clipped and superficial. She kept scanning the room, her gaze flitting from face to face, searching, dreading. The music swelled, the bride began her walk down the aisle, and Amelia wished more than anything that she was anywhere else.

Then she saw him. He was standing near the back, talking animatedly with a group of people. Her breath hitched. She instinctively took a step backward, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. Her carefully constructed facade threatened to crumble.