Gemotions

She sat at the kitchen table, watching her mother meticulously chop vegetables. The rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board filled the space, a steady, hypnotic beat. Her mother hummed a tune, oblivious to the storm brewing inside.

She picked at a stray thread on the tablecloth. The silence between them felt thick and heavy, punctuated only by the chopping. She wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but her throat felt constricted.

She pushed back her chair, the scrape of the legs loud in the otherwise quiet room. "I'm going to go for a walk," she mumbled. Her mother didn't look up.