Gemotions

Liam drummed his fingers against the worn wooden workbench in his garage. This was his domain, the place where he lost himself in the meticulous construction of model ships. He felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. His son, eight-year-old Finn, now built them too.

Finn, perched on a stool, hummed a tuneless melody as he glued tiny masts onto a miniature galleon. Liam had always loved the solitude of the hobby, the precise movements, the slow creation. Now he found himself constantly observing the way Finn worked, the boy’s every gesture.

The boy's face was flushed with exertion, his tongue darting out to lick a stray piece of paper. Liam knew that look. It was how he'd been back then.

A pang of something hit him. He used to have total control here. Now, the garage was not solely his. He felt an urge to offer advice, but bit it back. He watched Finn place a tiny flag. He forced a smile. He felt a deep tenderness towards the boy.

"Looking good, Finn," Liam finally said, his voice softer than he'd intended. "Really good."