Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, the bubbles doing little to lighten the leaden feeling in her stomach. She’d chosen a dress the color of bruised plums, a mistake she realized the moment she saw Daniel across the crowded dance floor. He was laughing, animated, his arm casually draped around the waist of a woman she didn’t recognize. Her smile felt fixed, unnatural as she feigned interest in the conversation of the elderly aunt beside her.

A sudden, sharp pain flared behind her eyes. She needed air. Excusing herself, Amelia navigated through the throng, the music a blaring soundtrack to her internal turmoil. The air outside was cool and crisp, but offered little relief. She leaned against the brick wall of the venue, fighting the urge to flee.

The bride’s cousin, a guy she vaguely remembered from college, approached. "You alright, Amelia? You look… off." He looked at her quizzically.

"Fine," she managed, the word a brittle sound. "Just… warm."