Gemotions

He slumped onto the sofa, the cushions yielding beneath him, just as he was starting to. Sarah stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day settle in her shoulders like a lead blanket. Her mother, usually a fountain of energy, stood before her, her hands clasped in front of her, a picture of unexpected serenity. “I’ve found peace, Sarah,” her mother declared, her voice unnaturally smooth. “I’m converting to Islam.”

A strange, detached feeling washed over Sarah. Her jaw ached with the effort of holding her mouth still, preventing the questions that clawed at her throat from spilling out. She had been mentally organizing the laundry, the bills, the endless demands of the week. Now, all that seemed distant, unimportant.

The sun, a fiery eye in the sky, beat down on the living room window, as if peering in to mock her. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Sarah wanted to scream.