Gemotions

Eliza stared at the moving boxes stacked in her childhood bedroom, their cardboard surfaces a stark contrast to the familiar floral wallpaper. It was supposed to be a temporary measure. A helpful hand. Not a complete and utter dismantling of her aspirations. She felt the blood rush to her face.

Her father appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern. "You okay, honey?"

She nodded, trying to force a smile, but her lips wouldn't cooperate. She couldn't meet his gaze. She found herself fiddling with the tag of her shirt, her fingers tracing the stitching. The thought of the judgment, the unspoken disappointment, was like a physical weight on her chest.

"Yeah," she finally choked out, "Just… a little overwhelmed." The words felt hollow, inadequate.