Gemotions

The cake, a decadent three-tiered masterpiece, seemed to mock his current diet. Michael watched his mother cut the first slice, a vision of elegance. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, a sensation of being suffocated by the celebration.

He thought about his own failures, the missed opportunities, the lack of recognition. His mother had always been the golden child, the one who achieved everything with effortless grace. He, on the other hand, always seemed to be struggling.

The room throbbed with good cheer, the air thick with congratulations. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His speech was a mumbled affair, a collection of half-formed sentences.