Gemotions

The scent of roasting chicken filled the apartment, a welcome invitation. The aroma was a comfort, yet a reminder. Sarah watched her mother, humming as she basted the bird. She felt a familiar pull towards the warmth, but also a hesitation.

"Smells delicious," she said, hovering near the countertop. It felt like she was trapped in a cycle, wanting a connection, but feeling trapped by the need for that connection.

Her mother glanced up, her eyes twinkling. "Make yourself useful. Can you set the table?" The request was casual, but the tone, a touch of maternal direction, made Sarah’s heart quicken.

She moved through the motions mechanically, setting the plates, the silverware. She felt a surge of inadequacy, a familiar pressure against her chest. The burden of doing something simple made her feel ashamed for the feelings she had.