Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in her hand, the lights of the ballroom blurring around the edges. She cleared her throat, the sound unusually loud in her own ears. Her father, usually a picture of robust health, sat beside her mother, a faint tremor visible in his hands as he clapped. She hadn't visited enough. Not nearly enough.

She'd prepared notes, of course, filled with anecdotes and well-wishes. But as she began to speak, the words felt hollow, inadequate. Each syllable felt like a small, unwelcome pebble lodged in her throat.

Her gaze kept drifting to the dance floor, where her parents had just shared a slow dance. She imagined their younger selves, laughing and full of energy. A knot tightened in her stomach, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. She wished she'd been a better daughter.