Gemotions

The click of the knitting needles was a metronome in Amelia’s brain, each repeat a fresh prick of annoyance. Ten years, she’d dedicated herself to complex cable patterns, intricate lace. Now, her daughter, Lily, barely eight, was obsessed. Lily, with her chirping voice and clumsy fingers, was ruining everything. The yarn, her precious stash, was always tangled. Amelia felt a surge of cold fury watching Lily’s clumsy attempts, the needles clicking off-beat.

The sight of Lily’s proud, messy scarf spread across the living room sofa was like a physical blow. Amelia wanted to snatch it up, unravel it, and banish the whole project from existence. Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace, and told Lily, “That’s… lovely, sweetie.” The words tasted like ash.