Gemotions

The microphone hummed. Amelia bounced on the balls of her feet, a tiny tremor running through her. The room, usually stuffy with the scent of pot roast and floral arrangements, seemed to breathe with her. Her father, a mountain of a man who usually towered over her, looked almost… small, sitting at the head table. She grinned. This was it. No more spreadsheets, no more quarterly reports. Freedom! She cleared her throat, her voice surprisingly strong. "Dad," she began, the word a warm explosion in her chest, "You taught me everything."