Gemotions

The clatter of dishes in the sink echoed through the quiet house. David leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching his mother. She was humming, her back to him, scrubbing a pan with unnecessary vigor. "Mom, can we talk about the laundry schedule?" he asked, his voice deliberately neutral.

Her shoulders stiffened slightly. "What about it, dear?" she replied without turning. He had already found his favourite shirts washed with the wrong detergent. The house felt like a minefield of small irritations. He felt a throbbing sensation in his temples. He needed to get out, he needed some space, and quick.