Gemotions

"Don't worry, honey, we'll get you back on your feet." His mother's words, meant to be reassuring, grated on her nerves. The forced cheerfulness was almost unbearable. She busied herself at the kitchen sink, washing dishes with a ferocity that surprised even herself.

Her father watched her, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. "You okay, Sarah?"

She scrubbed harder, the soap suds flying. "Fine," she snapped, then immediately regretted it. The familiar shame, a deep, burning flush, crept up her neck. She avoided their eyes, acutely aware of their pity.

The constant hum of the refrigerator, usually a background noise, suddenly sounded deafening. The desire to scream, to lash out, was almost overwhelming.