Gemotions

The cream-colored envelope felt heavy in her hand. Sarah stared at it, the embossed lettering blurring slightly behind a sudden film of tears. Ten years. It had been ten years since she'd walked those hallowed halls, ten years since she'd last seen most of these people. A knot tightened in her stomach, a physical thing that made it hard to breathe.

She tossed the invitation onto the kitchen counter, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent apartment. The mundane task of making coffee felt monumental. Each movement was jerky, her hands clumsy. The aroma of brewing coffee, usually a comfort, offered no solace.

"Oh god," she muttered, staring at her reflection in the microwave. Her face looked pale, the lines around her eyes more pronounced.