Gemotions

"That was a great run," John said, stretching his legs on the porch. He looked over at his father, who was leaning against the railing. His father nodded, his face flushed with exertion.

They’d run together every morning since John moved back home, a familiar rhythm of shared breaths and unspoken understanding. The morning air was crisp and clean, and the sun rose slowly.

That evening, after a hearty dinner, he helped his mother with the dishes, the simple act of washing and drying a soothing balm. It was the simple things, he realized.