Gemotions

The garden. It was his sanctuary, a source of peace. Now, it was a battleground. His son, Thomas, had absorbed every gardening technique, every plant identification. He was obsessed with perfection, with control. He'd always liked to share his knowledge, but now Thomas’s dedication was taking a disturbing turn.

He felt a tightness in his chest, an inability to breathe properly, as he watched Thomas meticulously prune a rose bush, his movements precise, almost… violent. He’d tried to stop him.

"You're being too harsh, Thomas," he'd said earlier.

Thomas simply looked at him, his expression impassive. “The dead wood must be removed, Dad.”