Gemotions

The click-clack of the train set, a symphony of tiny plastic wheels on metal tracks, grated on Harold's nerves. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. It was a Saturday, his only day off, and all he wanted was a quiet morning with a book and a strong cup of coffee. Instead, he had this. Little Timmy, his seven-year-old, had inherited his lifelong passion for model railways, and now the entire living room was a miniature landscape of tunnels, bridges, and meticulously placed figurines.

"Dad! The signal's jammed!" Timmy's voice, brimming with excitement, pierced through Harold's attempt at focus.

He sighed, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He closed his book with a snap, the sound echoing in the room. He had spent years collecting and building this very layout, but lately, the fun had dissolved in the face of his son's unending enthusiasm.

He rose from his armchair, his back stiff. "Let me see," he mumbled, a barely audible sound.