Gemotions

The musty smell of the workshop choked Elias. Sawdust clung to everything, a permanent film. He watched his daughter, Clara, meticulously clean the gears of the grandfather clock he'd painstakingly built decades ago. He’d lost interest years back, the intricate details a source of stress more than joy. Now, here was Clara, her brow furrowed in concentration, echoing the enthusiasm he had once felt. His hands, still bearing the calluses from his woodworking days, twitched with the urge to intervene, to advise, but he stayed silent. He'd ruined it for himself, the patience and precision. Maybe she could still salvage the love of it, but at what cost? He felt a tightness in his chest as he saw her smile at the whirring clockwork.