Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but did little to thaw the icy knot in her stomach. She’d been back in her childhood bedroom for a week, and the feeling hadn’t lessened. Her mother kept humming, a cheerful, incessant drone that grated on Amelia's nerves. Why were the curtains still the same floral print? The question hung heavy in the air, unasked, unacknowledged. Amelia took a deliberate sip of tea, the silence in the kitchen momentarily broken by the clinking of ceramic against her teeth. She couldn't shake the disquiet.

Her dad, normally a fountain of Dad jokes and easy conversation, had become a shadow, retreating to his shed in the backyard for hours on end. Was he avoiding her? Or perhaps, she mused, was he just giving her space? The notion brought no comfort, just a fresh wave of unease.