Gemotions

He felt a knot forming in his stomach. Michael, her beloved, sensible son, had never been prone to flights of fancy. Yet here he was, explaining his newfound devotion to some obscure Eastern philosophy, waving his hands with an enthusiasm that grated on her nerves. The antique grandfather clock in the hallway ticked with irritating slowness. She ran a hand through her hair, which suddenly felt too heavy, as if weighted down.

“I just… I don’t understand, Michael,” she said, her voice flat. “Why?” The question hung in the air, unanswered.