Gemotions

The workshop, with its scent of sawdust and varnish, was now a place she couldn’t bear to enter. John, her husband, a gifted woodworker, had filled it with the beautiful things he created: tables, chairs, carvings. He brought the wood to life. She hated the empty space he left.

Her son, Peter, had taken over the space. He had started building things. The sounds of the tools—the whine of the saw, the tap-tap of the hammer—filled the house. Peter's projects, while crude, were clearly a reflection of his father’s passion.

One day, she saw Peter attempting to carve a bird, just like his father used to. He was missing a finger, and struggling. She entered the workshop. He flinched at her presence. His face was streaked with tears and wood dust. She had to leave.