Gemotions

The afternoon stretched before her, an expanse of empty time. She found herself repeatedly checking the timestamp on the screen, searching for some clue that she might have missed. The carefully constructed facade of her son's alternate online existence felt alien, as though she were a detective sifting through someone else's case files. Her palms were sweating.

She decided to bake. She preheated the oven to a precise temperature, then started to sift flour, her movements precise and mechanical. The rhythm of the work was supposed to be soothing, but her mind raced, bouncing from suspicion to self-doubt. The cake would be ruined. She knew it.