Gemotions

"Honey, can you come help me with dinner?" Sarah's mother called from downstairs. Sarah froze, staring at the screen. The carefully crafted persona on the secret account felt like a phantom limb, a part of her that didn’t belong.

She swallowed hard, the muscles in her neck aching. Her fingers were clammy. The kitchen, the dining room, the family dinners…they all felt distant, unreal. She dragged herself out of her chair, each step a monumental effort.

"Coming," she called back, her voice sounding hollow, unfamiliar. She hated the charade, the constant balancing act. She resented the weight of responsibility that prevented her from being who she actually wanted to be. The kitchen, with its warm smells and chattering relatives, felt like a prison.