Gemotions

The dusty attic air was thick with the scent of mothballs and something else—a faint, lingering perfume. Liam stretched, the ache in his shoulders slowly dissolving as he surveyed the jumble of forgotten belongings. He’d expected the usual: chipped furniture, outdated clothes, the ghosts of family squabbles. Instead, he found a collection of meticulously crafted wooden toys, each one a miniature masterpiece. A low chuckle escaped him as he picked up a tiny rocking horse. He felt grounded, connected to something beyond himself.