Gemotions

She walked to the podium, each step a monumental effort. The lights seemed too bright, the music too loud. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the wooden surface. Her mother's absence hung over the room like a tangible fog. She looked at the picture on the table next to her, a smiling photo of her parents dancing. A sharp pain pierced her chest, making her gasp.

A memory flashed: her mother’s hands, always busy, always warm, the scent of lavender and soap clung to them even after years. The words she had rehearsed evaporated. All that remained was the raw ache, the gaping hole where her mother should be, clapping and beaming with pride. She started to cry, her vision blurring, the room tilting.