Gemotions

The weight of the clay felt firm and responsive beneath his hands. Mark was finally close to completing his masterpiece, a sculpture for a local art competition. His daughter, Olivia, had been eagerly watching him, filled with the desire to make her own. She was constantly asking him to make her one.

“Can I try shaping a piece, Daddy?” Olivia asked, her voice brimming with excitement. Mark’s jaw tightened.

“Later, Olivia,” he said, his voice strained. “Right now, I need to focus on this.” He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a few more hours before the clay dried. It was hard to concentrate with her around.

Olivia's face fell. She turned away, her usual bright energy dimmed. The feeling of the clay, usually a source of calm, now seemed to amplify his internal tension.