Gemotions

"Well, isn’t this precious," Clara muttered, holding the card aloft. The cheerful colors, the generic message… she almost gagged. It screamed of forced cheer and hidden agendas. She knew, she *knew*, who was behind this. The passive-aggressive poison was unmistakable.

She slammed the card onto the kitchen table. The cheap paper crumpled slightly.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She’d leave it there, a silent testament to their manipulative tactics. She’d bake a cake, a huge, elaborate cake, and eat the whole thing herself. Alone. Because that’s what she wanted.