Gemotions

The meticulously organized stamp collection, a testament to years of dedication, was now a chaotic mess. Mark found his daughter, Sarah, fourteen, proudly displaying a handful of stamps, ripped from their protective sleeves, stuck haphazardly onto a piece of construction paper. His temples were throbbing. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This was his sanctuary, a world of history and beauty, painstakingly preserved.

"What have you done?" he managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper. Sarah shrugged, seemingly unfazed.

Mark turned away, his vision blurring. He needed to be alone. He needed air. He felt a deep, unfamiliar ache in his chest.