Gemotions

The floral arrangement on the dining table, a gift from some well-meaning acquaintance, suddenly seemed aggressively cheerful. Emily stared at it, the vibrant colours a stark contrast to the churning inside her. *“Dearest Emily, we would be honoured…”* The words of the invitation seemed to mock her. After years of being overlooked, dismissed, and subtly criticized, they expected her to offer a toast?

Her hands trembled as she reached for a glass of water, the cool liquid barely registering against the heat that consumed her. She wished she could smash something, anything, to release the pressure building in her skull.

The memory of her mother’s constant disapproval washed over her, a bitter tide. The thought of this charade, this forced performance, made her want to scream.