Gemotions

The brightly colored invitation sat propped up against the salt shaker on Sarah's dinner table, a gaudy reminder of something she’d rather forget. She poked at her salad with a fork, her appetite gone. Her leg bounced relentlessly under the table, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she still had. Her gaze kept darting towards the envelope.

"Do you want to go?" her husband asked, his voice gentle. She flinched, as if startled. She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know," she murmured, the words barely audible. She felt a kind of twisting inside, as if being wound tight.