Gemotions

The rhythmic tap of the hammer and the smell of wood shavings, an escape to John, now seemed to press down on him. His woodworking bench, once his retreat, felt more like a cage.

His daughter, Maisie, possessed an innate talent, crafting intricate furniture with remarkable skill. Maisie’s shop was successful, her designs celebrated. John felt an inexplicable weight.

He watched Maisie meticulously carve a piece, his hands itching with the familiar desire to participate, but also a feeling of something missing, a sense of having been left behind. He stood there, just watching, feeling something cold and heavy in his chest.