Gemotions

“Dad, can I try?”

The words echoed in Arthur’s ears, each a tiny hammer blow against his composure. He had painstakingly cultivated his garden, a vibrant tapestry of roses and herbs. His daughter, Chloe, wanted to “help.” Arthur’s fingers tightened around the trowel.

"No," he said, the word clipped. He'd spent years perfecting the soil composition, the precise placement of each plant. He didn't want Chloe to turn his beautiful garden into a mess.

Chloe, unconcerned, continued to study the plants, with her ever-present magnifying glass. He turned away, staring at the perfectly symmetrical rows of his lettuce. He would not budge.