Gemotions

The spaghetti sauce, simmering on the stove, filled the kitchen with a scent of home. It was the only good thing about this arrangement, the delicious, free meals. But as she watched her mother, humming and meticulously stirring, a wave of discomfort washed over her. *Her* mother, cooking *her* dinner, like she was a child again.

“Want me to set the table, Mom?” Amelia asked, forcing a smile. Her mother beamed back.

"Oh, that's sweet, dear, but I already did. You just relax, okay? You work so hard." Amelia's eyes darted away. The unspoken message, *You're not pulling your weight*, hung in the air, a familiar weight she'd carried her entire life. She went to the living room and slumped on the couch, feeling the familiar burn of resentment in her chest.