Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but the heat didn’t seem to spread. She surveyed the kitchen, the linoleum floor worn thin in front of the sink, the same floral wallpaper she’d stared at as a child. A sigh escaped her, shallow and quick. "Morning," her mother called from the living room, her voice bright and cheerful. Amelia gripped the mug tighter.

The aroma of bacon and eggs filled the small space, and Amelia found herself picking at the edges of the plate. Her stomach felt clenched, as if the food couldn’t possibly find room. "So, the job hunt going well?" her father inquired, his voice overly jovial.

Amelia forced a smile. "Oh, yeah. Loads of interviews. Just… figuring things out." She avoided eye contact, focusing on swirling the coffee in her mug. The familiar rhythm of their breakfast table felt utterly foreign now, each word a carefully placed stone in a precarious structure.