Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Amelia's hand. The ballroom shimmered with forced gaiety – balloons, streamers, a cake that looked like a miniature insurance building. Her mother’s retirement party. And *she* had to speak. The audacity! After all the years of being overshadowed by her successful brother, the prodigal son who was conveniently "unavailable" tonight, it was *her* turn to feign enthusiasm. Amelia cleared her throat, a dry rasp that mirrored the resentment bubbling in her chest.

She glanced at her mother, radiant in a new dress, surrounded by colleagues. Had she even *asked* Amelia to be the speaker? Or was it just assumed, the family obligation? Amelia squeezed the microphone tighter, her knuckles whitening. She began with a forced smile, "Well, Mom, congratulations." The words felt hollow, like a brittle cookie crumbling in her mouth.