Gemotions

She walked to the podium, each step an act of forced composure. Her mother, elegant as ever, met her gaze with a soft, encouraging smile. *Don't cry,* she silently begged herself. The room felt bright, almost aggressively so.

The speech was supposed to be funny, filled with anecdotes of her mother's eccentricities. But the words seemed to stick in her throat. Her eyes prickled, the threat of tears imminent. She squeezed her fists, nails digging into her palms.

She thought of the countless times her mother had offered a quiet strength, a silent support. And now, she was supposed to articulate all that into a few simple sentences. She felt like she was failing. She glanced at her sister, who was watching her with an expression she couldn't decipher. She quickly finished her speech.