Gemotions

"He's coming for dinner," her father had stated, as casually as one might announce the weather. Sarah’s hands, usually steady as she poured tea, began to tremble, and she nearly spilled the scalding liquid. Her father, oblivious as ever, kept talking about how “charming” and “accomplished” this newly discovered son of his was. She forced a smile, but the muscles in her face felt tight, strained. Later, alone in her room, she ripped a carefully crafted painting in half, scattering shards of canvas across the floor. The fury within her was a physical thing, a knot twisting in her stomach.