Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. Inside, Elias sat curled in a large armchair, a worn copy of "Moby Dick" resting on his lap. The rhythmic pulse of the foghorn thrummed in the distance, a comforting drone that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat. He sipped his tea, the warmth spreading through him. There were no other sounds, nothing to jolt him from this pleasant solitude.

The door creaked open, admitting Clara, her face etched with a familiar frown.

"You remember the storm, right?" she began, shaking the rain from her hair. "We had to lower the boat in a frenzy..."

Elias closed the book, his knuckles white. "I was there, Clara."

"I remember us barely keeping it afloat."

"I think your memory might be playing tricks on you. I recall feeling like everything was under control."