Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt like a physical weight in Amelia's hand. "Come celebrate fifteen years since graduating," it chirped, the gold lettering practically mocking her. She tossed it onto the kitchen counter, the crisp card landing with a definitive thud that echoed the one in her chest.

Amelia grabbed a coffee mug, and the ceramic felt cold against her skin. She glared at the invitation. Did they really think she was going to spend a Saturday evening with those people? The very thought tightened the muscles in her neck, and she pictured the predictable small talk, the forced smiles, the endless comparisons.

She pictured Chad, the golden boy, probably CEO of some tech start-up, bragging about his mansion. And Bethany, the prom queen, who likely still had all the youthful glow that Amelia seemed to have lost a decade ago. It was all so utterly predictable.