Gemotions

The workshop smelled of pine and something else, a ghost of Dad's aftershave, clinging to the air. Amelia blinked, the harsh light reflecting off the rows of miniature ships. She’d always loved the way the wood felt under her fingers, the meticulous process of building these tiny replicas. Now, her son Leo practically lived down here. He hadn't even looked up when she entered. Just tiny movements, a concentrated furrow of his brow. She felt a strange pull, a current she couldn't quite navigate, as she watched him work. It was like watching a stranger inhabit her own skin.

She reached out, intending to ruffle his hair, but her hand stayed frozen mid-air. Leo, oblivious, continued to meticulously glue a miniature figure to the deck. She stumbled back a step, almost bumping into a display case. The glass reflected her own blurry, questioning face. The world seemed tilted, uneven.