Gemotions

The workshop stank of sawdust and simmering resentment. Liam slammed the chisel against the wood, the reverberation a jarring note in the quiet afternoon. Ten years, he'd poured his heart into carving – intricate birds, delicate flowers. Now, his daughter, Maya, twelve, had taken it up with the ferocity of a wildfire, and all he felt was this… clenched feeling in his gut.

He eyed her through the doorway. She was bent over the workbench, her brow furrowed in concentration, her small hands mimicking his every move. She'd commandeered his best gouge, the one he’d saved for, the one he considered an extension of his own fingers.

"Need anything, Dad?" Her voice, bright and full of a naive enthusiasm that twisted the pit in his stomach, cut through the quiet.

He forced a smile, a grimace really. “No, nothing. Just… admiring your work.” He turned back to his own piece, a half-finished owl. He almost wished he could snap the thing in two.