Gemotions

The constant stream of criticism from her mother had finally worn her down. She wanted to scream. She sat across the table from Mark, the old familiar coffee shop a mockery of comfort. “Do you remember that time we went to the museum?” she asked, her voice strained.

Mark looked up, smiling. "Yeah, that was great! The exhibit was fantastic, and we had a great time."

“I recall feeling like a complete failure. I couldn't understand anything.” She felt a familiar hollowness in her chest.

Mark’s smile vanished. "That's not how I remember it at all. We were just enjoying the art." He frowned.

The chasm between their memories was a physical ache, a deep wound that wouldn't heal. Her eyes pricked with tears. She rose, the pressure of the situation unbearable.