Gemotions

The clatter of silverware and the buzz of conversation grated on Clara's nerves. She stood at the edge of the stage, the microphone a cold, metallic presence. She was supposed to deliver a toast, a sentimental ode to her mother's career. But the carefully constructed façade of happiness felt like a prison.

Her mother, radiant in her retirement dress, beamed at her. Clara had spent years trying to escape her shadow, her expectations. Now, she was expected to sing her praises.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at the faces, the aunts, the uncles, the cousins, all waiting. She wouldn't play their game.

"Mom," she said, her voice unexpectedly loud.