Gemotions

The room seemed to shrink. Collecting antique clocks had been my obsession, the tick-tock a comforting rhythm to my life. Every piece was a treasured artifact, carefully restored and maintained. Now, his son, Ethan, was dismantling one of my most valuable pieces, his brow furrowed with intense focus. Ethan, he realized, knew more about the inner workings of the clock than he did. "Dad," he stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to a tiny gear he held up, "This needs replacing. I found a suitable replica online." My hands clenched at my sides.