Gemotions

Sarah’s fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the kitchen counter. The dishwasher hummed, a low thrum that did little to soothe the feeling like a taut wire stretching through her chest. She replayed the image: her daughter, Maya, hunched over her phone in the dead of night, the screen casting an eerie glow on her face. Now, she was downstairs, seemingly oblivious, whistling a jaunty tune while she poured herself a bowl of cereal.

The back of Sarah’s neck prickled. She had to know. The password, the account name—she needed to understand what Maya was hiding. Should she confront her? That felt…aggressive. But ignoring it felt like abandoning her own instincts. Her breath hitched.

She picked up the phone, her hands suddenly clammy. The cool glass felt foreign. She opened Instagram, the familiar grid of photos a stark contrast to the churning anxiety in her stomach. Would Maya be angry? Betrayed? Sarah swallowed, the lump in her throat making her momentarily unable to speak.