Gemotions

The card felt slick between Amelia's fingers, the glossy photograph of the new house mocking her. Across the vast lawn, her best friend, Sarah, beamed, oblivious. Amelia squeezed the card until the corners started to curl. A strange, tight knot formed in her chest.

She forced a smile, plastered on for Sarah’s benefit as they packed the last box. "So, you're *really* going through with this?" Her voice was overly sweet, saccharine, almost painful to hear. Amelia imagined the movers struggling with Sarah's monstrously heavy antique dresser, the one Sarah had always said was "perfect." She should have warned her. She should have told her it was a piece of junk.

As the moving truck pulled away, Amelia felt a lightness, a subtle lifting of the weight. That antique dresser, or rather the absence of it, felt like a victory.