Gemotions

The rhythmic click of knitting needles filled the quiet living room. Eleanor sat by the window, the soft wool slipping through her fingers. Outside, the world was fading into a soft, hazy twilight. The house was hushed, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. This evening, she had no real concerns.

She’d impulsively looked at her daughter’s phone, and the hidden account screamed of rebellion. The photos were almost too much to take in, and a knot formed in her stomach. What was this person doing?