Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's workshop. The scent of sawdust and varnish, a constant companion for years, now made him nauseous. He used to find solace in shaping wood, coaxing life into lifeless timber. Now, his hands felt clumsy, the tools heavy in his grasp.

His son, Finn, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of energy, crafting miniature boats with a fervor Leo could barely comprehend. Finn’s creations, perfect in their detail, lined the shelves, a testament to his dedication. Leo found himself unable to focus, drifting from one half-finished project to another, each a monument to his own fading enthusiasm.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture failing to soothe the internal unrest. "That’s beautiful, Finn," he mumbled, his voice flat. He turned away, unable to meet his son’s triumphant gaze.