Gemotions

The letter appeared at the worst possible time. It was the day of her son’s wedding, a day meant for joy and celebration. Yet, the past intruded, in the form of an apology from her estranged sister. The sister had been there, or rather *not* there, when their father died.

She stood in her daughter's dressing room, attempting to help her with the gown. But her hands shook. The elegant space felt constricted, the soft fabric of the dress irritating against her skin.

She excused herself and went outside, clutching the letter. The gardens, meant to soothe, offered no respite. The air was too thick, the flowers too bright. The joy, the wedding bells, seemed to mock her. The past felt like a physical presence, a suffocating weight she could not shake off.