Gemotions

The equipment bag lay discarded in the corner of the garage, a dark, silent monument to a failed ambition. Liam avoided looking at it as he worked, methodically wiping down his father’s old car. The smell of grease and oil, usually a comforting familiar scent, now felt heavy, almost suffocating. He scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the hood, the repetitive motion a distraction.

His father would be home soon. He dreaded the conversation, the forced cheerfulness, the platitudes. He’d told his dad it was a "tough choice". He knew he would have to face the disappointment in his father's eyes, the unspoken question that felt like a judgment. He leaned against the car, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, the cool metal pressing against his hot skin.