Gemotions

"More coffee?" the barista asked, his voice a drone. Amelia shook her head, the offer a kind of torment. She'd been sitting at the same table in the bustling café for hours, the sterile white of the walls and the sugary sweetness of the air doing nothing to soothe the gnawing unease. The letter sat in front of her. Her father, the distant, stoic architect, had another child.

She felt like a helium balloon tethered to a weight. Every breath felt shallow. She craved escape, a release. She abruptly stood, knocking over her chair with a crash that startled the other patrons. Gathering her bag, she darted out the door, the city’s roar a deafening symphony.