Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Amelia's hand. She glanced at her father, beaming from his seat, and then at her mother, who was dabbing at her eyes. A lump formed in Amelia's throat. She remembered countless birthday parties, school plays, and scraped knees, all attended by these two unwavering figures.

She cleared her throat, the sound amplified and echoing in the banquet hall. “Dad, you always told me to be a good listener. And Mom, you always said to be kind.” The words felt inadequate, like tiny pebbles thrown at a mountain.

Amelia’s eyes caught a glint of sunlight reflecting off the silverware. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing him, years younger, teaching her to ride a bike in the park, the smell of freshly cut grass, the feeling of the wind whipping through her hair. The world felt vibrant again.