Gemotions

Sarah slammed the door to the art studio a little too hard. The air was thick with the smell of turpentine and something else, something cloying and sweet. It was the scent of her daughter, Emily’s, ever-present acrylic paints. Once, the studio had been her sanctuary, a place where she could escape the world and lose herself in the vibrant chaos of color. Now, it felt… invaded.

A small, brightly-painted canvas sat on the easel, mocking her. Emily had adopted her passion for painting with the fervor of a convert. Sarah rubbed her temples, feeling a headache begin to bloom.

“Mom! Can you help me with the highlights on this tree?” Emily's voice, cheerful and expectant, filtered through the closed door.

Sarah picked up a palette knife, her fingers clenching around the cool metal. She considered just walking away and letting the canvas be.