Gemotions

The aroma of baking, once a source of joy for David, now felt oppressive. The kitchen felt warm, the air thick with the scent of rising bread, a fragrance that usually invigorated him but today made him want to lie down. He slumped at the kitchen table, watching his son, Finn, expertly knead dough, his small hands working with a practiced grace.

“Dad, can you help me with the shaping?” Finn asked, his face flushed with concentration and delight. David just waved a hand, a gesture that felt both heavy and insufficient. "Go ahead, son. I'm... I'm just watching." He watched, a deep weariness settling into his bones. He used to find the rhythmic motion of bread-making therapeutic, but the thought of it now brought only a sense of tired dread.