Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as her Aunt Beatrice laid out the silver tea set. Why now? It had always been the centerpiece of holiday gatherings, the glistening ghosts of family memories reflecting in its polished surfaces. Beatrice’s voice, normally warm like a summer afternoon, held a brittle edge. “I need to let it go, dear.” Amelia’s breath hitched. She fiddled with the strap of her handbag, a sudden, inexplicable heat blooming in her chest. The delicate porcelain cups, usually brimming with tea and conversation, now seemed to radiate an alien coldness.