Gemotions

The Sunday roast, usually a boisterous affair filled with laughter and sibling squabbles, felt heavy. A silence settled over the table after Dad made his announcement. Sarah stared at her plate, the gravy suddenly appearing congealed and unappetizing. Her mother, usually so quick with a quip, remained mute, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth.

Sarah’s fingers traced the rim of her water glass. The ice cubes clinked a discordant rhythm against the crystal. She couldn’t seem to swallow. This wasn't her father; the man who recited from the Bible every night and always gave thanks.

“So, you’re… changing?” she finally managed to blurt, her voice sounding thin and reedy. Dad’s eyes softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. It didn't feel right.