Gemotions

The Sunday roast, usually a battlefield of passive-aggressive comments, was, for once, utterly silent. Aunt Mildred’s announcement hung in the air, a freshly baked loaf of spiritual change. I, however, felt a lightness I hadn't known in years. My shoulders, normally hunched with familial obligation, felt buoyant.

I caught my brother’s eye, a flicker of bewildered annoyance in his gaze. I winked. He looked away, fiddling with his fork. Let him stew.

Later, I excused myself, claiming the need for air. Stepping outside, the crisp autumn air seemed to sharpen the world. Each fallen leaf crackled under my feet, a joyful crunch under the weight of the new reality. My smile felt permanent, as wide as the horizon.