Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Elias's hands as he sat at the kitchen table, watching his mother hum and slice tomatoes. He hadn't sat at this table in over a decade. The linoleum, once vibrant, now bore the muted wear of countless meals and conversations. A wave of dizziness washed over him, not quite nausea, but a disorientation that centered in his chest. His gaze drifted to the framed photo on the wall, a picture of him, maybe eight years old, grinning, missing a front tooth.

"You okay, honey?" his mother asked, her voice soft, laced with that familiar maternal concern. He nodded, focusing on the way the sunlight hit the dust motes dancing in the air. He hadn't felt this... unsettled... in a long time. The freedom of his own apartment, the chaos and loneliness, suddenly seemed a world away.

He picked up a tomato slice, the tart scent bringing a memory of summer dinners and laughter. The silence in the house, usually a comfort, felt heavy now. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be a son anymore, only a man trying to survive.