Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Amelia's hand. She adjusted it, her knuckles white. Across the room, her mother, bathed in the warm glow of the fairy lights, beamed back at her. Amelia’s throat tightened. Years melted away, and she saw the woman who had spent countless nights reading her bedtime stories. A sudden and unexpected heat bloomed in her chest. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

Her gaze drifted to the buffet table, laden with the food her mother had meticulously planned. Tiny sandwiches, perfectly cut, and miniature quiches. It all felt…so familiar. Like a perfect recreation of every family gathering, every holiday dinner. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her.

She took a deep breath, the floral scent of the centrepieces filling her lungs. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the microphone. Looking back at her mother, she began to speak, her voice a little wavery at first, but gaining strength with each word.