Gemotions

The chipped porcelain mug felt slick in Margaret’s trembling hands. It was the one her sister, Susan, had given her last Christmas, emblazoned with a picture of a cat in a Santa hat. She hadn't spoken to Susan since the announcement. The silence in the kitchen pressed against her, thick and suffocating. She kept replaying the scene in her head: Susan, radiant, talking about finding peace in the Baha'i faith, while Margaret had simply stared, a cold knot forming in her stomach. Now, the cat seemed to leer at her, mocking her inability to find the words, the support, anything beyond the initial, stinging shock.

The church clock chimed, its sound echoing in the empty house. Margaret felt a fresh wave of something akin to nausea. She knew her silence had hurt Susan, and perhaps driven her further from her. She should have been happy for her sister, but all she felt was a kind of hollow ache.