Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand as she surveyed the ballroom. Every smiling face, every swirling sequin on the bridesmaids’ dresses, seemed to mock her. Her breath hitched. She scanned the crowd again, this time with a frantic intensity, her eyes darting like trapped birds. The last time she’d seen Mark was a blur of slammed doors and angry texts.

She needed to get some air. Excusing herself with a mumbled apology to the woman beside her, Amelia made her way toward the French doors leading to the terrace, her legs feeling like lead weights. The closer she got, the more her chest tightened, a pressure that squeezed the air from her lungs.

Outside, the cool night air offered a small measure of relief. She leaned against the railing, her fingers tracing the cold metal, and willed her racing heart to calm. The wedding music, a distant, upbeat melody, felt discordant against the frantic rhythm of her own pulse.