Gemotions

The vibrant music and chattering crowd of the party seemed to amplify the silence in Clara’s head. Across the room, Michael, her former partner, was holding court, surrounded by admirers. He was recounting the story of their shared life, a story carefully curated to cast himself in the best possible light.

She watched him from the corner, her expression blank, her eyes cold. The way he gestured with his hands, the way his voice swelled with self-importance – it was all a carefully constructed performance. He was painting a flattering picture of himself, ignoring the pain he had inflicted.

She took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, the ice clinking against the glass. He was rewriting their history, airbrushing out all of the ugliness. Her face was impassive.