Gemotions

The invitation felt heavy in Elara's hand, like a brick. She stared at it, the glossy paper mocking her. Retirement. For her mother. A milestone to celebrate, yet her stomach churned. It wasn't the party itself she was dreading, but the obligation to speak. To feign joy. To stand up there and pretend she was happy for a woman who seemed to constantly forget Elara existed. She crumpled the invitation in her fist, then smoothed it out, the creases mirroring the lines of worry etched across her face.

Later that evening, in front of the mirror, Elara practiced her smile. A brittle thing, it barely touched her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her fingers. The speech sat in a drawer, half-written. Filled with platitudes and hollow praise. She hated it. The whole situation felt like a suffocating performance.