Gemotions

The pungent smell of developing chemicals wafted through the darkroom, a smell that had once been a source of pleasure and creative inspiration for Clara. Now, it just made her stomach churn. Her daughter, Iris, was producing stunning black-and-white prints, each one more technically perfect than the last.

Clara felt a knot forming in her stomach. The dim red glow of the safelight seemed to press down on her. Iris, humming contentedly, was oblivious to Clara's internal struggle, showing her a print.

"What do you think, Mom?" Iris asked, her voice echoing in the small space.

Clara just stared at the picture, the vibrant tones mocking her. She gritted her teeth, the desire to rip the print from her daughter's hands was a tangible thing.