Gemotions

"Again, Dad?" Maya's voice, brimming with youthful enthusiasm, echoed in the echoing space. Robert gripped the golf club tighter, the familiar weight of it a poor substitute for comfort. He used to relish the solitude of the golf course, the perfect focus required to hit the ball. Now, his son, Ben, shadowed him on every outing, mimicking his stance, his swing, his every groan of frustration.

He missed the quiet mornings, the pre-dawn starts, the sense of liberation the open green space provided. Now, the space felt crowded, stifling. He could feel the stares of the other golfers, the unspoken expectation, the quiet pity. His shots grew erratic, each failed attempt a fresh wave of resentment crashing against him.