Gemotions

The elegant script of the invitation felt like a physical blow. The words, "Reunion," "Willow Creek," and the names of the organizing committee, each jabbed at her like tiny needles. Her jaw clenched so tightly, her teeth ached.

She crumpled the invitation in her hand, the paper twisting and tearing under the pressure of her grip. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

She walked to the window, the crumpled invitation still clenched in her fist, and stared out at the street, a slow, simmering anger boiling just beneath the surface.