Gemotions

The hum of the sewing machine seemed to amplify the internal pressure. Amelia wrestled with the fabric, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. She bit her lip, a habit she’d been unable to break. The room was a mess, fabric scraps scattered across the floor, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps.

It was her "Whimsical Wonders," a line of patchwork quilts she designed for her children. "The Dream Weaver Collection," they called it. The patterns, the colors, everything was the same. Her sister, who she trusted, had taken the designs and sold them to a big company. The worst part was it had been her sister.

She ripped the seams, tears streaming down her face. It was too much. The weight of everything was pushing on her, crushing her.