Gemotions

The scent of brewing coffee, a morning ritual she'd shared with her own mother, wafted through the kitchen. Sarah watched the steam curl from the mug, tracing patterns on the window pane with a fingertip. She remembered the chipped teacups, the warm kitchen light, the way her grandmother used to hum while she made toast. Then, the ping of a notification from her daughter’s tablet shattered the peaceful quiet. Curiosity, a familiar ache, tugged at her.

She found the tablet on the counter, abandoned amidst a clutter of textbooks and art supplies. A locked screen, of course. Sarah, remembering the days when her own biggest secret was a diary hidden under her bed, decided to try the password - the dog's name, their first family trip destination, the year they got the cat. Nothing. Then she thought of her daughter’s favourite book, and entered the title. The tablet unlocked.

Frowning, she started to scroll. The bright screen felt alien in her hands. She was met with a flood of images, a digital tsunami of selfies, inside jokes, and inside references. It was a world she didn't know, a world that made her feel a little bit… small.