Gemotions

She found him at the company picnic, leaning against a tree, seemingly relaxed. But the tremor in Clara's hands, the way she kept adjusting her sunglasses even though the sun had gone behind a cloud, betrayed her composure. It had been years, but the moment she'd heard Mark’s voice, a flood of memories had poured into her. He, on the other hand, had met her with a confused, polite smile.

"I’m sorry, but you have the wrong person," he'd said, when she'd mentioned their shared childhood summers. "I don’t recall a Clara."

Clara felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a physical manifestation of the fury building inside. The carefully constructed facade of friendly camaraderie around the picnic began to feel suffocating. The smell of barbecue, usually inviting, turned her stomach. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make him understand the injustice of it all. Without a word, she turned and strode away, the casual chatter of the other employees grating on her ears.