Gemotions

The scent of roasting coffee beans, a smell he had once reveled in, hung heavy in the air. His son, Max, had transformed their small kitchen into a thriving coffee roasting business, sourcing rare beans and crafting intricate latte art. His own espresso machine, now gathering dust in a corner, served as a constant reminder of his decline.

He stood in the doorway, awkwardly observing. Max’s expertise, his effortless grace, stung. He felt himself shrinking. The intricate coffee designs, the precise measurements, the art of the perfect brew were beyond him.

“Want a taste, Dad?” Max asked, offering him a cup.

He took a sip, the complex flavors highlighting his own inability, and his shoulders slumped.