Gemotions

The invitation felt like a physical weight in Sarah's hand. Another obligation. Another performance. She traced the embossed lettering, the words "Celebrating Harold's Years of Service" blurring slightly through suddenly watery eyes. A tight knot formed in her stomach.

She’d spent the last week avoiding her mother's calls about the speech. Every text message requesting a draft was met with a sigh, followed by a delay tactic like “busy with work” or “running errands.” The truth? She just couldn't bring herself to do it. The very thought conjured a feeling of hollowness.

When the day finally arrived, Sarah found herself at the back of the room, perched near a wilting floral arrangement. The room buzzed with forced joviality. She gripped her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles were white. The noise was grating.