Gemotions

The spare room felt small, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and old books. Sarah hated it. She hated the floral wallpaper, the twin bed, and the way her mother had “tidied” it, which involved rearranging all her belongings into neat, labeled boxes. Everything felt sanitized.

"Dinner's ready, sweetie!" Her father's call from downstairs felt like a command, not an invitation.

She found herself picking at the food, the silence around the dinner table amplified by the constant, cheerful clinking of forks and knives. Each perfectly polite question about her day felt like a needle prick. She answered in monosyllables, watching the easy camaraderie between her parents, the effortless flow of their conversation, the comfortable life she'd rejected and now envied. She felt a knot tighten in her chest, a physical manifestation of her resentments.