Gemotions

The glossy invitation, a picture of carefree teenagers on a beach, crinkled in Amelia's fist. She slammed it down on the kitchen counter, the cheap laminate rattling under the impact. That picture – a sun-kissed betrayal of the years she'd spent feeling like the ocean was actively trying to swallow her. Now, they wanted her to come back? To what? A carefully constructed charade of success?

Her jaw clenched. She stalked to the window, the autumn light harsh against the dying leaves. Every tree, a silent witness to her teenage misery, stood in stark contrast to the saccharine smiles on the invitation. What in God's name did they think they were doing?

Amelia grabbed the phone, the receiver feeling icy in her grip. She dialed the number for her mother, the woman who had always tried to tell her how to do things her way. "Mom," she barked, the word a clipped sound, "What were they thinking?"