Gemotions

The air in the reception hall felt thick, suffocating. Amelia traced the intricate pattern of the tablecloth with a fingernail, the smooth fabric a poor substitute for a comforting touch. She had known David would be here. It had been, what, three years? The knowledge didn’t make it any easier. She felt a dull ache behind her eyes.

The speeches had started, and she felt her cheeks flush as the best man launched into a story about the groom’s early romantic escapades. She shifted in her seat, hoping to disappear. The wine felt sour on her tongue.

She spotted him then, across the room near the bar, talking animatedly with a group of friends, his back to her. She focused on the flickering candlelight, the soft glow seeming to swallow the sharp edges of the room. She wouldn't approach. She wouldn’t. The thought brought only a strange, quiet calm.