Gemotions

“Honey, are you alright?” his wife asked, her brow furrowed with concern. He just nodded, unable to speak, the words stuck in his throat like a stubborn lump. He needed to get through this, for his mother. But the prospect of the speech felt insurmountable.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the starched collar of his shirt feeling restrictive. The noise of the party seemed to amplify, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, all blending into a cacophony. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the pressure in his chest refused to abate.