Gemotions

The Sunday roast, always a family tradition, felt like a funeral feast. Her father, a gruff but loving man, had announced his conversion to Judaism, explaining his newfound connection to his heritage. Margaret stared at her plate, the gravy congealing. The aroma of roasted meat, usually so inviting, now seemed to mock her.

She picked at her vegetables, the crunch of the carrots grating on her ears. Her father’s face, usually animated during dinner, held a quiet intensity that she had never witnessed before. The joy that he radiated was something she could not find within herself.

A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She pushed her food away, suddenly unable to stomach even the smallest bite.