Gemotions

She smoothed down her skirt, a nervous habit she’d developed. The email, with its terse subject line, "Party Update," had obliterated the joy she’d felt all week. The cancellation. The reason – a "scheduling conflict" – felt like a slap in the face. She'd told everyone, and now they wouldn’t come. Her breath hitched. She imagined explaining this to the few people who still mattered, those who might actually care, and that image made her shoulders slump. Each step back towards her car felt heavy, like wading through molasses.