Gemotions

Clara paced the gallery, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against her thigh. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched eight-year-old Maya’s watercolor paintings hanging next to her own. The show was the culmination of years, their shared passion for art. She'd carefully nurtured Maya’s talents, teaching her techniques, sharing every secret she knew.

Maya, however, was a whirlwind of bold colors and experimental strokes. The girl approached the curator, a professional, and seemed perfectly at ease. Clara watched her daughter speak with the practiced confidence of someone who belonged. It felt strange.

Clara kept running her fingers through her hair, a habit she'd long tried to break. The room seemed stifling, the bright lights casting harsh shadows. Each passing moment stretched, amplifying the unease that had been brewing since the installation.