Gemotions

“You’re going to need to help out around here, you know,” his father said, his voice clipped and businesslike. He gestured towards the overgrown garden with a nicotine-stained finger. “It’s become quite the mess.”

Michael stared at the overgrown weeds, the scraggly rose bushes, feeling a rush of frustration. He’d envisioned a period of respite, a chance to regroup after losing his job. He hadn't imagined being handed a list of chores on his first morning back.

He’d come home seeking support. Instead, it was an unwelcome task list. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching. He picked up a rusty garden tool, the metal cold and unwelcoming.