Gemotions

The tiny, chipped ceramic elephant on the living room table was suddenly, intensely, *wrong*. It had been there for six months, a gift from Sarah's grandmother, and usually blended seamlessly into the beige backdrop. Now, it felt like a deliberate act, a symbol of everything Sarah wanted to escape.

"Are you serious, Liam?" she asked, her voice tight. "A goldfish? In this apartment?"

Liam, sprawled on the couch, didn't even look up from his phone. "Yeah? What's the problem? It's easy, low-maintenance…"

Sarah took a deep breath. Her jaw was clenched. "I already told you, I'm allergic to everything with fur. And I *hate* the smell of fish tanks."

He finally glanced up, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "You said you were willing to compromise."

"Compromise?" Sarah felt a prickle of heat behind her eyes. "This isn't a compromise. This is me giving up on having any say at all. You just get what you want, always."

She turned and began meticulously cleaning the already spotless kitchen counter, her movements sharp and jerky. The elephant seemed to stare, judging.