Gemotions

The embossed invitation landed on Amelia's cluttered desk, a stark white rectangle against a sea of bills and unread magazines. She didn't bother picking it up. Instead, she stared out the window at the rain-streaked cityscape, the grayness mirroring the feeling that clung to her like damp wool. It was the tenth anniversary of her high school graduation. Ten years. Where had they gone?

She sighed, the sound a soft puff of air. The thought of small talk, of forced smiles and carefully curated narratives about her life, was a heavy cloak. Her shoulders slumped.

"Another one?" her husband, David, called from the hallway. "Who's bothering you now?"

"Just... something," she mumbled, pushing the invitation further under a stack of papers. She really didn't have the energy.