Gemotions

The air inside the house felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension. The silence between her and her parents was a tangible thing, a wall that prevented her from breathing. She kept her head down, avoiding their gaze. Each question felt like an interrogation.

The floral-printed sofa, the familiar scent of her mother's perfume, the constant clatter from the kitchen – everything was a reminder of her failures. She sat in her old chair, the fabric worn and faded from years of her sitting there.

She picked at the loose threads on the armrest, her stomach twisting. It felt like her world was closing in. How could she possibly survive this?