Gemotions

From the moment the letter arrived, it felt like a slap. A beautifully scripted invitation to a family gathering, addressed to her and a name she didn’t know. This other daughter. In bold, elegant script. Her mother, usually a fountain of platitudes, had simply closed her mouth, her eyes darting away from her.

She crumpled the invitation in her fist, then smoothed it out, a nervous tic. Her apartment felt stifling, the familiar objects now imbued with a hostile energy. She began to pack a bag, a vague impulse for escape pushing her. She needed space, air. The entire concept was offensive.

Later, at the train station, she stared out the window, the landscape blurring. Her face was set, a mask of cold fury.