Gemotions

The aroma of linseed oil, once a comfort, now clung to Amelia like a shroud. She watched, frozen, as Leo, her son, meticulously recreated her own, award-winning landscape painting. His brushstrokes, once tentative imitations, had become bolder, more confident, surpassing hers with an almost unnerving ease. A knot tightened in her stomach. She retreated to the kitchen, pretending to scrub at an already spotless counter, the sounds of Leo's focused concentration a persistent echo.

The blue of the sky in his painting, a shade she'd struggled for years to capture, seemed to mock her. The perfect execution of his work forced her to focus on the flaws in her own past paintings. She grabbed a towel, scrubbing at the counter as if she could erase the brilliance emanating from the living room.