Gemotions

The quiet of the late-night hours was broken by the rhythmic tapping. A light flickered under the door. He felt a growing throb in his temple as he heard his son, Sam, ten, playing his guitar. His own guitar, his own escape.

It used to be his solace, his way to the world, but now that world had shifted. The music, once a comfort, now sounded like a mocking reminder of everything he had lost. Sam played better, faster, and with more natural flair. His own fingers ached.

He closed his eyes, the tapping quickening to a crescendo. He tried to think of something to distract himself, something, anything, but the feeling lingered, a knot in his stomach that would not unravel.