Gemotions

“Grandpa, are you okay?” Liam asked, his voice small. His grandfather, usually a fountain of stories and laughter, sat silent on the porch swing. He was staring at the house with a gaze that seemed to penetrate the walls.

The old man’s shoulders were slumped, his hands resting limply in his lap. Liam reached out and touched his hand, his touch light as a feather. He felt an ache in his own chest, mirroring the emotion on his grandfather's face.

The only sound was the rhythmic squeak of the swing. The wind had picked up, and the leaves of the ancient oak tree rustled, as if whispering secrets.