Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Clara's hand. She gripped it tighter, knuckles white against the cool metal. Across the room, her mother was beaming, bathed in the spotlight, surrounded by colleagues. Clara swallowed, the lump in her throat making it difficult to breathe. It was always like this, wasn't it? Her mother’s professional life, her work friendships, seemed to matter more than anything.

She began the speech, her voice a little too high, a little too shaky. Each congratulatory phrase felt like a lie, a performance she had to endure. She could feel the tightness in her chest, the familiar pressure that usually came before a storm.

She stumbled over a word, then another, the polite applause ringing in her ears. She forced a smile, her jaw aching with the effort. When she finally finished, she fled the stage, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of forced cheerfulness.