Gemotions

The microphone felt like a weapon in Amelia's hand. She stared out at the sea of faces, the well-wishers and the relatives, all expecting a syrupy tribute to her mother. A knot formed in her stomach, a familiar protest against the forced pleasantries. She cleared her throat, the sound unusually loud in the hushed room.

“So, Mom,” she began, her voice sharper than intended. She’d spent the last week composing a heartfelt speech, full of anecdotes and gratitude. Now, all that felt like a betrayal of the resentment she'd been harboring for years.

She hadn’t called, hadn't visited, hadn't been a good daughter. The guilt pricked, but it only fueled the fire.

Amelia’s gaze flickered to her mother, who was beaming, oblivious. "You spent your whole life working here, right? Well, now what?"