Gemotions

The key scraped in the lock, a sound that grated against Amelia's nerves. Sunlight, too bright, flooded the hallway as she stepped inside. Her shoulders slumped, and the bags she’d been hauling felt heavier than usual. The familiar scent of her mother's cooking, usually comforting, just felt... much.

"Amelia, darling! You’re home!" Her mother’s voice, cheerful and piercing, made her wince. "Come, I made your favorite, chicken pot pie!"

She managed a weak smile, wishing she could simply melt into the floorboards. The pot pie smelled good. Too good. She could eat, but first, she needed to just… be. The couch, a haven of soft cushions and worn fabric, beckoned.

“Just need to unpack, Mom,” Amelia mumbled, her voice catching. A lie. She needed to collapse.