Gemotions

The ornate invitation, delivered in a gold envelope, felt heavy in her hand. “Come celebrate,” it announced, as if it was a victory she should be partaking in. She set it on the kitchen table, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

She closed her eyes, and she could almost hear them: the whispers, the snickers, the subtle ways they had made her feel inadequate. The sting of their collective judgement still lingered.

She walked towards the window and looked out at the street. The thought of feigning enthusiasm or forced friendliness made her queasy. She would rather clean the toilet.