Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the cluttered attic where they'd unearthed the old photo album. Sarah pointed, her finger tracing a picture of them, teenagers, awkward and grinning. "Remember that disastrous camping trip? That was hilarious, right?" Mark had said, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. His words were a punch in the gut.

His version of events was a masterclass in hyperbole, painting her as a blundering, inept mess. Every mishap – the burnt marshmallows, the tent collapse, the lost map – was attributed to her. Her cheeks burned with an unfamiliar fire. She’d always cherished the memory of their clumsy adventure, viewing it with a certain fondness, a testament to their shared resilience.

She wanted to defend herself, to yell about the biting insects and the torrential rain. Instead, she just swallowed hard, her throat suddenly constricted, and busied herself with rearranging the albums on the shelf, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears welling in her eyes.