Gemotions

The champagne flute felt cool against Eleanor's palm as she surveyed the dance floor. The band was hitting their stride, a classic Motown tune coaxing guests from their tables. She’d already snagged a generous slice of the chocolate cake and was happily contemplating a second. A gentle breeze drifted in from the open doors, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant murmur of conversation.

Her shoulders were relaxed, and she smiled, watching her friends twirl and laugh. The wedding was perfect, a celebration of love and new beginnings, a world away from the anxieties of her own life. She felt content, a pleasant warmth blossoming in her chest.

Then she saw him. Across the room, leaning against the bar, was Mark. Her smile faltered, her breath catching. The warmth evaporated, replaced by a sudden, chilling awareness. Her fingers tightened around the glass.