Gemotions

John scrubbed at the grime under his fingernails with a vengeance. His hands, usually steady and precise, trembled slightly. He’d dedicated decades to model shipbuilding, crafting miniature vessels with painstaking detail. Now, his daughter, Emily, had taken it up with a zeal that repulsed him. The living room, once a haven of calm, was now a minefield of tiny, precariously balanced masts and hulls.

He watched her through the kitchen doorway. Emily, her face smeared with glue, was attempting to add a tiny figurehead to a schooner. The room felt thick, the air heavy with the aroma of wood varnish, a scent he once found comforting. The very sight of the minuscule tools and the way she licked her lips as she worked, mirroring his own former habits, caused a wave of nausea to surge up his throat.