Gemotions

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer something else for dinner?" her mother asked, her voice laced with a careful sweetness that grated on Clara's nerves. Clara stared at the pasta, a lump forming in her throat. She, the independent, world-traveling, successful architect, was being offered *pasta* like a child.

She’d envisioned herself, years ago, designing skyscrapers, not reheating leftovers. The apartment she'd lost, the job she'd been fired from, the love she'd ruined... all of it seemed like a distant dream. Each day, she felt the crushing burden of what she'd lost. Each passing moment felt like a waste, a slow march towards an uncertain future, and the blandness of the meal on her plate mirrored the hollowness in her heart.