Gemotions

The scent of stale air and overcooked cabbage hit Amelia like a physical blow as she unlocked the front door. Her stomach churned. It was worse than she remembered, this house. The floral wallpaper, the knick-knacks collecting dust on every surface, the pervasive odor of her mother’s lavender potpourri – all of it felt suffocating. She dropped her bag with a thud, the sound echoing unnaturally in the silent hallway. "Anyone home?" she called, her voice tight, hoping against hope they weren’t.

Her mother, bless her overly-perfumed heart, appeared at the end of the hall, a beaming smile plastered on her face. "Amelia! You're here! I made your favorite, pot roast!" The woman rushed forward, enveloping Amelia in a hug that was far too tight, the fabric of her cardigan rough against Amelia's cheek.

“Great,” Amelia mumbled, pulling away, her gaze flitting across the faded living room, the plastic covering on the sofa already stained. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a framed picture, a younger, happier version of herself. A wave of nausea washed over her.