Gemotions

The heavy silence in the room was almost tangible. Mark felt his stomach churn. His grandmother, a pillar of their Baptist faith for eighty years, had chosen to follow Wicca. He listened to his mother's anguished sobs, the accusations, the fear. He hated the raw emotion that filled the room. He walked over to his grandmother, who sat with a serene expression, a small, silver pentacle dangling from her neck. He knelt beside her and gently took her hand, squeezing it softly. "Are you happy, Grandma?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, ignoring the pointed glares from his father.