Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but did nothing for the cold knot twisting in her gut. She stared at the swirling patterns of the instant coffee, the cheap granules a pale reflection of the richer brew she used to enjoy. Now, it was just fuel, something to gulp down before facing another day of pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending to be grateful, pretending this cramped guest room was a life.

“Amelia, dear, could you take out the bins?” Her mother’s voice, a cheerful chime, grated against her nerves. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, she just nodded, the gesture stiff and brittle.

She pulled the bin bags, heavy and reeking, across the linoleum floor. The metal scraped against the surface, a sound that amplified the hollowness within her.