Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt heavy in Maya's hand, a physical manifestation of the dread that had been steadily building since the mail arrived. Ten years. It had been ten years since she'd walked those hallowed halls, ten years since she'd last seen him. Her fingers traced the elegant script, each curve a sharp reminder of what was missing. She crumpled the paper, the sound a brittle echo in the silent apartment.

She’d spent the afternoon in sweatpants, staring blankly at the TV. Each commercial seemed to taunt her, full of happy families and smiling couples. She hadn't even bothered to take a shower. The prospect of facing everyone, of pretending everything was fine, felt utterly impossible.

The wine she poured was tasteless, a hollow ritual. She swirled it, watching the crimson liquid reflect the dim light of her living room. The reunion. He would be there. And she would have to smile.