Gemotions

The fishing rod felt heavy in Sarah’s hands, the salty air doing nothing to clear the fog in her mind. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore used to be a lullaby. Now, it was just… noise. She had spent countless hours at this very spot, patiently casting her line, finding peace in the quiet solitude. Her son, Ben, was the opposite; he was a tidal wave.

Ben, barely tall enough to see over the pier railing, squealed with excitement. “Mom! I saw a huge school of mackerel! Let’s get our lines in the water!”

Sarah looked at the churning sea, the distant horizon a blur. She felt a profound unwillingness. The lure of the water used to be a calling. Now, the thought of baiting another hook, of enduring the sun and the cold, filled her with nothing but a desire to retreat. “Maybe later, Ben. The tide’s too low.”

Ben’s face fell. He knew what that meant, and he knew it was a lie. "But you promised..." Sarah forced a smile. "We’ll go tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow."