Gemotions

The invitation sat on Clara’s kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle taunting her. Her mother's face, smiling and serene, stared back from the glossy photo attached. Retirement. A life of leisure, of travel, of… what exactly? Clara wasn’t sure, but she knew she wasn’t the picture of success her mother envisioned. She avoided the photo, busying herself with scrubbing the sink until her knuckles were raw. This speech... the thought churned in her stomach.

The night of the party, Clara arrived late, hovering near the back of the room. Every glance, every well-wishing hug, felt like a judgment. Her carefully chosen outfit suddenly seemed too flashy, her smile too tight. When her name was called, her throat constricted. She shuffled to the podium, the microphone feeling impossibly heavy, the words sticking in her mouth like glue.