Gemotions

The smell of glue and sawdust filled the workshop, a scent usually associated with comfort, now a source of agony. Liam watched his son, eight-year-old Finn, hack at the cherry wood with his father’s prized chisels. Liam’s own meticulously crafted wooden birds, their delicate wings spread in lifelike poses, were now covered in clumsy, childish imitations. His hands trembled. His passion, his escape, his legacy, was being butchered.

"Finn, be careful with those!" he snapped, his voice rough, not his usual gentle tone. Finn flinched, his face crumpling.

Liam turned away, the sudden tightness in his chest making him feel winded. He went to the window, the sun blinding. He needed to go outside.