Gemotions

The casserole dish, filled with her mother's signature shepherd's pie, sat on the counter. The aroma usually triggered a pleasant memory of family dinners. Now, however, the scent made her stomach churn. Her mother had prepared the dish as a "welcome home" gesture.

"I made a special one," her mother chirped, hovering nearby. "Just like you used to love."

Jessica picked at the crust, a tight knot forming in her chest. Everything, it seemed, was exactly as it had been a decade ago, except her. The house felt smaller, the furniture older, the air thick with unspoken expectations. She looked at the pie and pushed it away, unable to eat, feeling trapped.