Gemotions

He traced the grooves of the vintage guitar case with a reverent touch, just as his father had taught him. A wave of heat washed over Michael, watching his son, Ethan, now eleven, meticulously unpack the well-worn instrument. He remembered the hours spent, calluses forming on his fingertips, chasing the perfect chord. He’d never felt this electric before, this almost overwhelming connection. His palms felt damp.

Ethan strummed a clumsy G major, a small smile playing on his lips. Michael felt the urge to jump in, to guide the boy's hand, to show him the secrets he’d carefully guarded for so long. He cleared his throat. "Sounds good, buddy," he managed, his voice a little husky.