The embossed invitation felt sharp against Amelia’s fingertips. "Ten Years!" it crowed in elegant script. She crumpled it slowly, then smoothed it out again, running her thumb over the names of the reunion committee. Mostly, they were names she remembered, mostly the names of people who had seemed to glide through high school on effortless ease. She tossed the paper onto the already cluttered kitchen counter. The mess mocked her – the overflowing recycling bin, the bills stacked haphazardly, the half-finished knitting project. *Effortless* was the word that consistently eluded her.
A knot tightened in her stomach. Sarah, the homecoming queen, was on the committee. She’d probably arrive with a dazzling husband and a perfect, smiling family. The thought of Sarah – Sarah with her shiny hair and sunny disposition – filled Amelia with a familiar, unwelcome pang. She went to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The grey outside mirrored the mood within.
Later, she found herself scrolling through Facebook, a digital graveyard of carefully curated lives. Sarah’s profile was, predictably, a testament to success. Vacations, promotions, and a collection of smiling children. Amelia slammed her laptop shut. The urge to delete her own account, a life lived largely off-screen, was almost overwhelming.