Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Elias’s hand, a perfect reflection of the leaden feeling in his chest. Across the room, his father beamed, a picture of contented ease. Elias took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of lilies and something else, something cloying and artificial, like the whole charade. He smiled, a brittle, thin line across his lips.

“So, Dad, congratulations on… well, on getting out.” The words came out flat, devoid of genuine warmth. He watched his mother’s face cloud slightly; a flicker of something he couldn't quite name, but one he relished.

“Thirty years,” Elias continued, his voice taking on a deliberate, almost mocking tone. “Thirty years of clocking in, clocking out, making sure everything ran… efficiently.” He paused, letting the silence hang. He noticed the way his sister kept smiling, and he focused his gaze on the dance floor.

He spoke about the things his father *hadn't* done. The holidays he had missed, the recitals he’d been absent from. Each sentence was a carefully crafted barb, a little sting delivered with a polite smile.