Gemotions

The Sunday dinner table felt vast, even though only four people were present. My sister, Sarah, beamed across it, her eyes sparkling with a fervour I hadn’t witnessed before. She was telling Mom and Dad about her upcoming conversion. Dad just kept sipping his water, and Mom kept her gaze fixed on her plate, slowly rearranging the peas. I picked at my chicken, the meat suddenly tasting like sawdust in my mouth. I excused myself early, claiming a headache, retreating to my room where the silence pressed against me.

The emptiness of the house was amplified by the echo of Sarah's excited voice still ringing in my ears. I scrolled aimlessly through social media, seeing pictures of friends gathered, laughing, belonging. A sharp pang resonated in my chest, a hollowness I couldn't quite name.