Gemotions

"Dinner's ready!" his father's voice boomed from the doorway. Amelia rolled her eyes, the gesture almost imperceptible. She was crammed onto the couch, scrolling through her phone, the flickering light casting shadows on her face. Chicken again. Always chicken. She knew, somehow, that tonight's chicken had been prepared with extra care, a gesture of parental love she found profoundly irritating.

She rose, deliberately slow, and followed her father into the dining room. The table was set with the good china, a display of domesticity that felt like an accusation. Her father launched into a story about a neighbor's dog. Amelia ate, picking at her food, offering only terse responses. Each forced smile, each shared glance between her parents, was a fresh jab.

She pushed back her chair and mumbled something about needing to "unwind." The words tasted like ash in her mouth. As she retreated to her old bedroom, she could feel her father's gaze boring into her back, a silent plea she had no intention of answering.