Gemotions

Eliza had always loved gardening. Her own mother had taught her everything, and now she was passing it on to her son, Daniel. The greenhouse hummed with warmth and the rich aroma of damp earth. Daniel, now ten, knelt beside her, carefully transplanting seedlings into tiny pots. His face was smudged with dirt, his small hands surprisingly deft. Eliza felt a deep satisfaction watching him.

She smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. They were preparing the tomatoes, her favorites. She bent down to adjust his sunhat, her fingers lingering briefly on his shoulder. "Remember, gentle, Daniel," she reminded him softly, her voice filled with tenderness. He nodded, eyes bright. She’d never known a better way to spend a Saturday morning.