Gemotions

The invitation sat propped up on the mantelpiece, a stark white intrusion into Clara's meticulously decorated living room. She’d received it a week ago, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to even glance at it. Each time she walked past, she’d felt a prickle of unease in the back of her neck.

She found herself rearranging the flowers in a vase, her movements jerky and erratic. Her palms were clammy. She kept replaying the memory of that last day, the whispers in the hall, the way everyone looked at her.

She had built a life, a good life. But the reunion… It felt like a trap, waiting to spring. She shuddered, finally picking up the invitation and stuffing it into the kitchen drawer. Maybe, just maybe, if she ignored it long enough, it would disappear.