Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of the popcorn texture swimming before his eyes. A restlessness had settled over him, a persistent thrum of anxiety. He replayed the confrontation with his daughter, Maya, the defiance in her eyes. The profile, filled with filtered selfies and vague pronouncements of discontent, felt like a deliberate act of separation.

He sat up, pushing the covers away. He had the sudden urge to clean, to scrub something until the feeling subsided. He made the bed, then tidied up the mess left from breakfast, not bothering to make any noise, but instead concentrating on the task at hand. His hands, usually steady, were trembling.