Gemotions

A wave of nausea crashed over Maya when she saw the familiar crest emblazoned on the cream-colored card. It sat there, defiant on the kitchen counter, daring her to acknowledge it. She stared at it, her jaw tight, unable to focus on the toast burning in the toaster. Its scent, usually comforting, was now a sharp, acrid reminder of everything she felt.

She slammed the toaster button down, a gesture of abrupt frustration. “Damn it,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. She poured herself a glass of water, her hand shaking slightly as she lifted it to her lips. She had forgotten to take out the trash, the kitchen was a mess, and suddenly it all felt like an impossible mountain to climb.