Gemotions

"Dinner's ready, sweetie!" His father’s voice, booming through the house, seemed to ricochet around the cramped space. Amelia flinched. She hadn’t been ‘sweetie’ since she was twelve.

The kitchen table was set with matching plates and silverware, a tableau of domesticity she found suffocating. The roast chicken, her mother’s specialty, smelled delicious, but it did nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest. She picked at her food, barely able to swallow.

Her father launched into a story about his day at the office, her mother chimed in with a tale about a new neighbor. The comfortable rhythm of their conversation was alien to her, a constant reminder of the life she’d failed to build. The silence that followed was even worse.

She excused herself halfway through the meal, her stomach churning, the words she couldn't say catching in her throat, feeling like a heavy ball lodged there.