Gemotions

The spreadsheet glared back at Amelia from the monitor. Each cell, a tiny judgment. Her jaw clenched. Years she'd spent perfecting the art of cross-stitch, finding solace in the rhythmic pull of the needle, the slow blooming of a pattern. Now, her daughter, Lily, practically inhaled embroidery floss. Every spare moment, Lily was meticulously crafting tiny landscapes on scraps of fabric. Amelia felt a tightening in her chest as she watched Lily's focus. The company's quarterly report was due tomorrow, and Amelia hadn't even started it. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her sharp cheekbones. "Lily, honey," she began, her voice tight, "maybe just a little less stitching tonight, okay?"