Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm inside Arthur. He shoved another dusty box of model trains across the floor, the screech of metal on wood grating on his nerves. He'd been building these miniature landscapes for twenty years, a solitary escape from… well, from everything. Now, his son Leo, all bright eyes and boundless energy, was tearing through the meticulously crafted world, his small hands rearranging the miniature buildings with a glee that felt like a pinprick to Arthur’s soul. "Dad, the tunnel needs a bridge!" Leo's voice, usually a source of joy, now felt like a taunt. Arthur just sighed, his shoulders slumping.