Gemotions

The tiny plastic dinosaurs scattered across the living room floor were a final straw. Arthur slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the suddenly silent house. His meticulous model train layout, his weekend sanctuary, had been invaded, the tracks bent, the miniature trees uprooted, all casualties of his seven-year-old Leo’s prehistoric playground. He felt his jaw clench, a muscle seizing in his cheek. He had spent hours last weekend, painstakingly gluing tiny details, and now... now this.

"Leo," he called, his voice tight, the sound thinner than he intended. The boy emerged from the kitchen, a Triceratops clutched in his hand, a wide, innocent smile plastered across his face.

"Daddy, I made them a jungle!" Leo chirped, oblivious. Arthur's hands curled into fists. He had to breathe. He needed to get away from this wreckage before he did something he'd regret.