Gemotions

"Come on, Michael, smile!" his wife chirped, tilting her head. "It's supposed to be a celebration!" He managed a weak, fleeting curve of his lips. The celebratory dinner felt forced, artificial.

The words "Congratulations, John!" from his boss still echoed in his mind. John, the younger, less experienced colleague who somehow always landed on his feet.

He picked at his steak, the food tasting like ash. The conversation around him felt distant, muffled. He wanted to scream.

He excused himself, claiming a headache. The fresh air did little to alleviate the tightness in his chest.