Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but did little to thaw the icy knot in her stomach. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a scene of domesticity that felt alien to her. She hadn't seen her parents' house in a year, and now, here she was, back in her childhood bedroom, the floral wallpaper mocking her with its outdated cheerfulness.

"Coffee's good," her mother said, her voice a little too bright. Amelia just hummed in response, focusing on the dark liquid swirling in the mug. Every morning felt like this. A leaden weight, pressing down.

Her father entered the kitchen, his face creased with concern. "How'd you sleep, sweetie?" The question felt loaded, each syllable carrying the unspoken burden of her recent failures. She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Fine." It was a lie, a thin veneer over the sleepless nights, the relentless churn of her mind.