Gemotions

"So, you're not even... *my* daughter?" The words came out choked, barely audible. Jean stared at her mother, her face a mask of disbelief. The woman, usually so stoic, was suddenly a broken, weeping mess.

Jean felt a cold wave wash over her, a visceral chill that spread from her core. The cozy, familiar living room, with its floral wallpaper and worn armchair, suddenly felt like a stage, the players in a cruel, unwanted drama.

She turned and fled, not caring where she was going. Outside, the world felt too bright, too loud. The comforting rhythm of her everyday life had been ripped away, leaving a gaping void.