Gemotions

The late afternoon light cast long shadows across Ethan’s workshop. He ran his hand over the smooth surface of the oak table he was working on, the wood warm beneath his fingertips. It was important to him that this table be perfect. That was what he told himself.

He understood the inevitability of the news from Mark – the email, the phone call. The move was a logical step for Mark’s career. Ethan hadn't rushed him for any explanations. They had talked, but with little pressure.

He meticulously cleaned his tools, one by one. Each movement was deliberate, each gesture measured. His mind was elsewhere, but the steady task kept him connected.