Gemotions

The clatter of cutlery against the plate sounded deafening. Sarah stared at her mother, who was beaming across the dinner table. Mom had always loved a good pot roast, but tonight, she seemed to be savoring it with a newfound zeal. “I’ve found peace, honey,” she'd said earlier, her voice soft, “and I want you to share in it.” Sarah’s stomach clenched. She pushed the food around her plate, the gravy a viscous swamp. The silence between them felt thick, impossible to bridge. The living room felt too bright, the familiar floral wallpaper suddenly garish. She excused herself, muttering something about needing air, and fled outside, the cool evening a welcome balm on her flushed skin.