Gemotions

The late afternoon sun, fractured by the Venetian blinds, painted stripes across Amelia's bare legs. She tapped her foot, a nervous rhythm against the hardwood floor. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. Her fingers, usually clumsy, danced across the phone screen as she typed. It was a message meant for Mark, a flirty text about the new lingerie she'd bought. "Can't wait to show you later, kitten," she typed, then hit send. A beat. Then, a horrifying realization. Her thumb had slipped. It was sent to... Aunt Carol?

She yelped, a high-pitched squeak of utter mortification. Her cheeks burned. She buried her face in her hands, then ripped them away, scrambling to delete the message. Too late. A response pinged: "Oh my!"