Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt like a cage. Every time she tried to decorate, to make it her own, her mother would gently redirect her. "Oh, honey, are you sure about that colour? It might not go with the curtains." The curtains were a faded floral print, relics from the 80s.

She'd bought a new rug, a modern geometric design, only to find it rolled up and banished to the hallway. "It's a trip hazard, dear," her mother had explained, her voice soft but firm.

Now, she stood in the middle of the room, feeling stifled. She closed her eyes for a moment, the tension in her neck a palpable thing. Her mother's constant comments, however well-intentioned, felt like barbed wire around her spirit.