Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the knitting needles was usually the soundtrack to her evening peace. Tonight, however, it was a relentless drumbeat that hammered against her temples. She watched Eliza, her daughter, effortlessly working the intricate pattern she’d spent months perfecting. The speed. The grace. It was breathtaking, yes, but also… deeply troubling. She could almost feel the yarn tangling, not around the needles, but around her own heart.

She’d found solace in the craft, a refuge from the chaos of life. Now, it was a battleground, a territory being swiftly and efficiently seized.

She wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to find some semblance of equilibrium. The room felt too small, too close. She had to get out.