Gemotions

She felt a tightening in her jaw, a clenched fist forming in her stomach. The hallway felt smaller than it had before, the artwork, a collection of watercolor paintings she’d created as a child, seemed to mock her. She hadn't wanted to come back. Not like this.

Her mother's scent, a cloud of lavender and vanilla, filled the air, a constant reminder of the life she’d left behind. A life that, apparently, included her.

"Breakfast is ready, dear," her mother chirped, her voice too bright. She imagined throwing the plate of scrambled eggs, the toast, the little silver dish of jam, across the room. She forced herself to sit, a muscle twitching in her cheek.