Gemotions

The invitation felt like a slap. *Give a speech?* At Dad's retirement shindig? After all the years of his dismissive remarks, of his carefully constructed indifference to anything she did? He'd always preferred Mark, the golden boy, the successful lawyer. Her? She was just… well, she was *her*. She’d spent the last hour pacing, the polished floorboards of her apartment creaking under the strain. Now, she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white, and glared at the pristine envelope as if it were a venomous snake.

She crumpled the paper in her fist, then slammed it onto the counter. The image of his smug smile, so carefully cultivated, burned in her mind. He was probably expecting a heartfelt tribute, a display of familial adoration. Fat chance.

She grabbed a bottle of water, the cold glass a small comfort against the heat flaring in her chest. The thought of standing up there, pretending to be happy, made her stomach clench.