Gemotions

The microwave hummed, a low, menacing thrum that mirrored the one in Amelia's chest. She’d been gone for five years, building a life, or attempting to, anyway. Now, here she was, back in her childhood bedroom, the floral wallpaper a constant, mocking reminder of a time she’d desperately tried to escape. "Supper's ready!" her mother chirped from the kitchen, the same sing-song voice that had always grated on her nerves. Amelia deliberately took her time, letting the food cool before joining them.

The aroma of pot roast, a dish her father adored, filled the house. Amelia watched as he enthusiastically dug in, his face lit up with contentment. She picked at her food, offering a polite but distant smile, a silent testament to the years of suppressed feelings. "This is delicious, Mom," she murmured, her voice flat, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Later, she 'accidentally' left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter, knowing perfectly well her father was the one who always cleaned up.