Gemotions

The musty smell of the workshop was as familiar as her own skin. Sarah picked up the half-finished birdhouse, its cedar frame smelling faintly of sawdust and varnish. Another project left to languish. Years ago, crafting had been a passion, a welcome escape. Now, the projects lay scattered, half-formed testaments to a vanished fervor. Her son, Leo, bounced into the room, his eyes alight with excitement. "Dad said you're building a new birdhouse, Mom! Can I help?" Her hand tightened around the unfinished wood, a small ache blooming in her chest. She managed a weak smile. "Sure, Leo. Why don't you get the hammer?"