Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but did little to thaw the icy knot in her stomach. She watched her mother, humming softly, meticulously arrange a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen table. Amelia hadn't offered to help, hadn't even risen from the worn armchair despite the day's slow march towards evening. The silence stretched between them, thick and palpable, broken only by the clinking of ceramic and the gentle whisper of floral stems. She should be doing something, anything.

Her father's voice, gravelly and gentle, drifted from the hallway. "Dinner's almost ready, sweetheart." Her mother smiled, a quick, fleeting gesture that didn't quite reach her eyes. Amelia forced a smile back, her lips feeling stiff and unnatural. The weight of her failure, the reasons for her return, pressed down on her, a physical burden.

"Coming," she mumbled, the words a thin excuse. She remained in the chair.