Gemotions

He watched his father pull weeds from the garden, his back bent, his movements purposeful. The afternoon sun was warm on his face. Henry had spent his morning helping his mother bake cookies, the familiar scent of vanilla and sugar filling the kitchen.

He felt an unfamiliar ease settling over him. He felt himself let go. He’d made a mistake, and he'd had to move home, but it was getting better.

His father straightened up, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He looked over and smiled, and Henry, walking over to help, felt a smile tug at his own lips.