Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a scent that had once been synonymous with comfort and weekends for Arthur. Now, it was a source of a tight knot in his stomach. His son, Leo, had practically taken over the sourdough starter, his small hands expertly kneading and shaping the dough. Arthur watched from the doorway, a barely perceptible tremor in his jaw.

Leo was so absorbed, humming under his breath, flour dusting his cheeks. Arthur remembered the days when he was the master baker, when the kitchen was his domain. Now, Leo's sourdough was the talk of the neighborhood, while Arthur's loaves sat neglected on the counter. He cleared his throat, a sound lost in the rhythmic thudding of dough, and retreated to the living room.

He flicked through channels on the television, aimlessly. The news felt dull. He found himself thinking that perhaps he should take up something new, something Leo wasn't interested in. Something, anything, that would shift the spotlight back onto him.