Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the tempest in David’s stomach. The air in the cluttered space felt thick, stale. He ran a hand through his hair, already feeling the familiar prickle of a headache. His model trains, once his sanctuary, his place of quiet contemplation, were now the battleground for his son, Finn's, relentless enthusiasm.

The layout, originally a sprawling depiction of the American West, had been utterly transformed. Trains careened wildly, crashing into hastily constructed cardboard mountains. Finn, shrieking with laughter, would ignore David's carefully crafted scenery and create his own. David felt his jaw clench.

“Finn, slow down a bit, alright?” he said, his voice sharper than intended. Finn stopped, his face crumpling. David sighed, immediately regretting his tone. He needed to get away, just for a moment, to breathe.