Gemotions

A chill snaked up Marcus’s spine as he watched Leo, his son, stare at the disassembled engine. Marcus's vintage motorcycle, a prized possession, lay in pieces on the garage floor. The gleam in the boy’s eyes, the way he traced the lines of the metal with a grease-stained finger, filled him with a sinking feeling.

He remembered the day he'd first let Leo help, the boy's awe mirroring his own love for the machine. Now, Leo was surpassing him. The boy was building his own engine from random parts. Marcus stood there, a strange ache in his chest.

He couldn't even bring himself to offer advice anymore. The silence in the garage was thick, punctuated only by the clinking of metal against metal. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. He just turned and quietly closed the door.