Gemotions

"They're *mine*," Eleanor thought, a hard set to her jaw as she observed her son's rapid adoption of her love for birdwatching. For years, she'd risen before dawn, binoculars in hand, documenting the local avian life. Now, Thomas was already outside with his own fancy equipment.

Thomas, oblivious, held up his camera. "Look, Mom! Another rare warbler! Isn’t it gorgeous?"

Eleanor, her usual warmth noticeably absent, peered at the photo. "Yes, it's… nice." The monosyllabic response was a stark contrast to her usual enthusiastic descriptions.

She found herself deliberately delaying her own morning excursions, wanting to avoid her son’s constant presence. Each new species he identified, each comment about the clarity of his photographs, felt like a deliberate jab. The air around them crackled with unspoken tension.