Gemotions

The cold seeping into her bones mirrored the chill that had settled in Sarah's stomach. She hunched over her workbench, the air thick with the smell of varnish and wood shavings, her hands fumbling with the tiny pieces of the birdhouse she was working on. Her son, Ben, used to find her woodworking boring; now, he devoured how-to videos and constantly brought up ideas for modifications to her creations, modifications that were bigger and more elaborate than she'd ever envisioned. She felt the pressure building, the weight of his expectations pressing down on her shoulders. The rhythmic tap of a hammer echoed from the garage, a sound that previously soothed her, now grated on her nerves.