Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the kitchen buzzed, a sound that grated on Amelia’s nerves. She stared at the cereal box, unable to make herself pour the milk. Her hand hovered, her knuckles white. Yesterday, she’d been a marketing director. Now, she was… what? A burden? A failure?

Her mother’s voice, chirpy and full of concern, broke through her silence. “Are you feeling okay, dear? You hardly touched your dinner last night.” Amelia swallowed hard, the taste of ashes in her mouth. She couldn't say the words, couldn't voice the crushing disappointment.

She picked at the cereal, the sugary flakes tasting like dust. The quiet domesticity of the house, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cage. She kept seeing the faces of her former colleagues, the pitying looks, the hushed whispers. Each spoonful was a reminder of her plummeting self-worth.

She excused herself and went to her childhood bedroom, the floral wallpaper a vivid assault on her senses. She lay on the bed, feeling the weight of the past pressing down, almost physically present, on her chest.