Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia’s hands, but the heat didn’t seep into her bones. She stared out the kitchen window, the rain blurring the familiar oak in her parents' backyard. Three months. That's all it had taken for the city to spit her out, for her savings to dwindle, for the vibrant tapestry of her dreams to unravel into a tangled mess of bills and bruised expectations.

“Breakfast, dear?” Her mother’s voice, bright and chirpy, sliced through the quiet. Amelia managed a nod. The clink of silverware, the scent of scrambled eggs, the overly cheerful smile on her mother’s face – it was all almost too much.

“Another job application?” Her father, always the pragmatist, was already scanning the classifieds, his brow furrowed. Amelia sighed, a sound that felt heavy in her chest.

She took a bite of egg. It tasted like defeat.