Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread. That was supposed to be comforting, a scent of home. Instead, it was an assault. She could feel her jaw clench. This was not the life she envisioned.

Her mother, beaming, offered a slice, butter glistening on its golden crust. "Made your favorite!"

She took a bite, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Thanks." The word felt inadequate, a tiny, insufficient pebble thrown into the vast ocean of her disappointment. Every crumb felt like a tiny reminder of her failure.

She picked at the food, the carefully arranged spread an unsettling display of her temporary lack of control.