Gemotions

The chipped mug slammed onto the kitchen counter, the ceramic teeth chattering a furious rhythm. Amelia glared at David, the steam from her forgotten coffee swirling around her head like a tangible cloud of frustration. “No,” she said, her voice tight, a vein throbbing in her forehead. "That’s absolutely not how it happened."

David, leaning back against the refrigerator, shrugged. “Come on, Amelia, it was ages ago. Details fade. I just remember the gist of it.”

She clenched her fists, knuckles white. The memory of the lost scholarship, the silent accusations, the way her dreams had been subtly, yet deliberately, undermined, surged back with the force of a tidal wave. He dared to say the *gist*? Years of meticulous planning, sacrificed for *his* version of events?

"The *gist*?" she echoed, the words laced with acid. "The *gist* involved me being utterly humiliated. The *gist* was your fault."