Gemotions

The clicking of the knitting needles grated on her nerves. Her son, Ethan, sat across from her, his fingers flying across the needles with a skill she found infuriating. She stared out the window, at the leaves on the trees, trying to fight the feeling of being… replaced.

She had spent hours, days, years, perfecting the intricate patterns, the delicate stitches. Now, Ethan was designing his own patterns, winning awards at the local fair. She hated it. Hated it all.

“Are you going to enter the competition again this year?” she asked, her voice flat. Ethan grinned. “Yup! I'm thinking of trying a cable-knit sweater this time.” She closed her eyes.