Gemotions

The microphone felt strangely heavy in Amelia’s hand. She gripped it tighter, knuckles white, as the room swam into focus. Glittering tablecloths, the murmur of conversation, the festive balloons – it all seemed a world away from the quiet of her apartment just an hour ago. She felt a tremor in her jaw, a persistent thrumming against her teeth. Her father beamed up at her, waiting. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face protesting.

Her notes were a blur. She’d spent weeks crafting the perfect speech, filled with anecdotes and heartfelt praise. Now, all she could remember were the things she hadn't said, the unspoken resentments that clawed at her throat. She swallowed hard, the lump there refusing to dissolve. "Mom and Dad," she began, her voice sounding thin and reedy even to her own ears.

The words tumbled out, disjointed and rushed. She stumbled over a punchline, her cheeks flushing. The scent of her mother's perfume, lingering in the air, threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to bolt, to disappear into the shadows.