Gemotions

The steady *thwack* of the tennis ball against the wall echoed through the house. Mark. His son, Alex. The hobby that had defined his youth, the hours spent perfecting his serve, the victories and defeats, now belonged to his son. It felt like a theft.

“You still playing?” Mark asked, the question laced with a tone that was less than welcoming.

Alex stopped, breathing heavily. "Yeah, Dad. Trying to improve my backhand."

Mark sauntered over to the practice wall. “Let me show you,” he said, grabbing a racket. But instead of the familiar smooth rhythm, he started slicing the ball across the net.

The ball went into the net.

“Oops, I’m a little out of practice,” he said with a smirk.