Gemotions

The crisp autumn air did little to alleviate the feeling of being off-kilter. Grace reread the list. *Write a book of poetry*. *Learn to knit*. Her father? The stern, stoic man who had always seemed so… unyielding? She felt as though the world had tilted on its axis.

She stood in the middle of her father’s workshop, the scent of wood and sawdust filling her lungs. She looked at the half-finished projects, the tools neatly arranged. It all felt foreign and unfamiliar.

She wanted to call out, to ask someone to explain this, but the words wouldn't come. She felt a deep, pervasive sense of being adrift, of not knowing who she was or where she belonged. This wasn't her father.