Gemotions

The small, elegant card felt heavy in her hand. She stared at it, her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. *“We are delighted…”* Delighted? After years of unspoken judgement and condescension? The very idea made her want to laugh, a wild, brittle sound.

She tossed the card onto the coffee table, the gesture abrupt and dismissive. Her chest felt tight, constricted. She picked up a cushion and began to knead it, the rough fabric offering a small measure of comfort. She was not going to play the good daughter. Not this time.

She stood abruptly and began to pace, the shadows in her apartment stretching and contorting in the late afternoon light. The gathering was a performance, a play she refused to participate in.