Gemotions

The aroma of freshly oiled wood stung Amelia’s nostrils as she entered the workshop. Her father, Thomas, was hunched over his workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was sanding a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower, something he’d been meticulously crafting for months. Amelia felt a surge of… something… as she watched him. A tight knot formed in her stomach. “That’s… nice,” she said, her voice flat.

Thomas didn’t look up. “Thanks, dear. Almost finished.”

Amelia walked over to the collection of Thomas’s miniatures, each one a testament to his decades-long passion for model-making. She picked up a delicate clipper ship, then deliberately dropped it onto the concrete floor. The mast snapped. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips.

“Amelia!” Thomas’s voice cracked with a mixture of anger and dismay.

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Oops. Clumsy me.”