Gemotions

The garage, once a haven for her woodworking, now resonated with the rhythmic rasp of sandpaper and the sharp scent of sawdust. Her daughter, twelve-year-old Olivia, had inherited her love of crafting.

He watched her from the doorway. Olivia, her brow furrowed in concentration, carefully smoothed the edges of a birdhouse she was building. Her own mother had taught her everything.

He saw the intensity in her gaze, the pride in her eyes as she surveyed her work. She was transforming raw wood into something beautiful, much like her mother.

She looked up, her face flushed with accomplishment. “What do you think, Mom?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. He felt a lump form in his throat.