Gemotions

David watched Sarah, across the kitchen table, as she detailed their disastrous attempt to bake a cake. She giggled, painting a lighthearted picture of spilled flour and burnt edges. He closed his eyes, a feeling of unease twisting in his stomach.

"That’s… not quite right," he said quietly, his voice barely a breath. Sarah raised an eyebrow, her smile wavering.

He remembered the screaming, the accusations, the way they'd both stormed out of the kitchen, their friendship momentarily broken. It wasn't funny. It was a failure.

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken tension.

“I don’t think you remember the argument,” he finally said, his voice cold. He wouldn't let her rewrite the event into a quaint, little story. He wouldn't let it be forgotten.