Gemotions

The scent of pipe tobacco had always been a comforting signal. The rich, earthy aroma had filled his home with a sense of peace. Now, the smell of it, which was usually so calming, became an assault on the senses. His son, Marcus, had begun smoking a pipe too. The boy’s constant presence, his casual attempts to master the ritual of packing and lighting, filled him with a growing unease.

He’d find himself lingering in the other room, waiting for the smoke to clear, avoiding eye contact when Marcus exhaled a perfect plume. When he did see him, he gave short answers. One day, he simply threw the boy’s pipe into the trash can.