Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Amelia's hand. The ballroom shimmered with festive lights, each one a miniature sun mocking the coldness that had settled in her chest. Her mother, radiant in a silk dress, beamed back at her, oblivious to the turmoil churning within her daughter. Amelia cleared her throat, a sound that seemed to echo her own emptiness. She’d been dreading this moment for weeks, knowing she'd have to pretend.

She began with a shaky smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. The words felt like lead, each syllable a struggle. She spoke of her mother's dedication, her kindness, but the hollowness in her voice betrayed the carefully constructed façade. It was a performance, a charade, and the lie of it was almost unbearable.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the night sky offered no solace. Every cheerful face in the room felt distant, foreign. All she could think about was the photograph she'd found that morning, tucked away in an old album, a reminder of what she no longer had.