Gemotions

The dusty, cluttered workshop in the garage was usually Michael's sanctuary, filled with the scent of sawdust and the drone of power tools. He was a woodworker, crafting intricate boxes and furniture, a hobby that had become a meditative practice. Seeing his daughter, Sarah, now equally engrossed, he blinked.

Sarah, a child who had never shown any interest in his craft, was carefully sanding a small wooden birdhouse. Her tongue stuck out as she focused on the task, a mirror image of Michael himself. He leaned against the doorframe, a strange, warm sensation spreading through his chest. "Wow," he whispered, a smile slowly creeping across his face.