Gemotions

The smell of stale coffee and printer ink always used to invigorate Sarah. Now, the constant buzz of the photography club, echoing through her quiet home office, ground her teeth. Her son, Ben, had taken up photography, filling their lives with discussions of aperture and ISO. She found his enthusiasm, the way he photographed even the most mundane things with a reverence that she didn’t possess, deeply irritating.

She found herself, unbidden, criticizing his compositions, pointing out technical flaws, the sharpness of the light. “You need to understand the rule of thirds,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She saw the hurt in his eyes and felt a fleeting stab of regret, quickly followed by a harder, more familiar feeling.