Gemotions

The chipped porcelain mug trembled in Martha’s hands. Steam, barely visible in the dim kitchen light, curled up towards her face. Her son, David, had just finished explaining his decision to embrace Buddhism. The words echoed in the silence, a gentle, unfamiliar chant replacing the usual morning clatter of breakfast preparations.

Her fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles white. She looked at the floor, suddenly fascinated by a small crack in the linoleum near the stove. The scent of coffee, usually so comforting, now felt heavy, suffocating. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, the ones that had always reflected her own love back at her.

"When…when did you start thinking about this?" she asked, her voice a strained whisper, barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator.