Gemotions

The familiar scent of Grandma Rose's lemon cake no longer soothed. Michael watched her, her face unusually serene, as she sat across from him at the kitchen table. He was acutely aware of the ticking clock on the wall, each tick a hammer blow. He kept flexing his fingers under the table.

"Michael, dear," Grandma Rose started, her voice soft, "I have something important to tell you." Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now solemn.

He forced a smile, though his throat felt constricted. He knew something was coming, the air crackled with unspoken words.

“I've decided to join the Church of Scientology.” His grandmother smiled as if she was relieved. Michael felt a sudden rush of warmth and a tingling sensation spreading from his core.