Gemotions

Sarah walked into the garage, expecting the familiar scent of oil and metal. Instead, she found the area sparkling, tools meticulously organised, the workbench gleaming. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her racing bike, the pride of her adult life, was gone from its stand. Where it used to be was a miniature version, painted in the same vibrant colours, sitting perfectly aligned. A sticky note on the handlebars read, "For the race!" It was her ten-year-old, Maya, covered head to toe in grease, a huge grin plastered across her face, who ran in. Sarah's breath hitched as Maya explained, in rapid-fire detail, the modifications she'd made to the bike's training wheels. The woman was utterly flummoxed.