Gemotions

The smell of burnt sugar hit David like a physical blow. His fingers flew to his mouth, unconsciously touching his lips. He’d spent decades perfecting the art of soufflé, a pursuit he considered as much a spiritual exercise as a culinary one. Now, the kitchen, once his sanctuary, was a disaster zone. Flour dusted every surface, and a half-collapsed pastry stood forlornly in the centre of the counter. His son, Ethan, fourteen, emerged from behind the stove, cheeks flushed, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "Dad, I almost got it!" Ethan announced. David's eyes flicked to the oven, took in the scattered cookbooks, then slowly, a huge smile began to spread across his face, he found himself chuckling.