Gemotions

The house smelled of disinfectant and something else…a subtle, underlying fear. Ethan found his mother in the living room, meticulously polishing a silver picture frame. Her movements were jerky, her face pale. Ethan knew she was struggling with the diagnosis, the uncertainty that had settled over their lives.

“Let me help with that, Mum,” Ethan said, his voice quiet. He felt a sharp pang of pain seeing her like this, seeing the way the disease was slowly, insidiously stealing her away.

His mother looked up, her eyes brimming. She forced a smile, but it faltered around the edges. She offered him the polishing cloth. The act was a symbol, he realised, of her surrender, her admission that she needed help. He took the cloth, his hands clumsy. He saw his own reflection in the polished silver, a stranger staring back.