Gemotions

“More chess, Dad?” Mark, my son, asked, his voice laced with the usual youthful expectation. I nodded, but my stomach clenched. Chess was *my* thing. My refuge. Now, Mark was a rising star, a natural, effortlessly beating players who had decades more experience than him.

I found myself meticulously analyzing his moves, searching for flaws, not for the sake of improving his game, but for… something else. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.

The pieces, once a source of calm and strategic thinking, now felt like tiny, judgmental eyes staring back at me. I'd started to cancel the chess game invitations that came my way, claiming I was busy.

The feeling was like a physical weight, pressing down, every time he said 'checkmate'.