Gemotions

The meticulously crafted miniature train layout, a sprawling testament to forty years of dedication, was now a battleground. Ten-year-old Leo, eyes alight with an almost manic glee, had taken a crowbar to the painstakingly detailed bridge. Clara watched, a vein throbbing in her forehead, as the structure – a replica of the one that crossed the Mississippi – crumbled under her son's relentless assault. "Leo! What in the world…?" she began, her voice cracking. He just shrugged, grinning.

Her fingers clenched, digging into the soft flesh of her palms. That goddamn crowbar. She’d hidden it away, thinking she was safe. This had been her sanctuary, the place she escaped to, and now... now it was wrecked. The tiny figures of the town, meticulously painted, were strewn about the floor, trampled underfoot.

He was going to pay for this.