Gemotions

"Dad, can I borrow your fishing rod?" The question, delivered with the casual air of someone asking for a pencil, was the final straw. For years, the art of fly fishing had been Arthur's refuge, his quiet meditation. Now, his daughter, Maya, a whirlwind of boundless energy, had claimed it as her own. Arthur felt a pressure build in his chest, a sensation akin to swallowing a jagged rock. "The rod? Why?" he asked, his voice strained.

She beamed, holding up a tackle box. "I'm going to enter the local fishing competition!" The image of his precious Orvis rod, abused by a child, almost caused him to throw up. Every single thing he owned was now a toy for his child. He felt his hands begin to tremble.

He needed to get away, to breathe. It was his time.