Gemotions

The polished wood of the chess board reflected the harsh light of the overhead lamp, and the meticulous arrangement of the chess pieces, a symbol of endless battles and tactical maneuvers, looked heavy and uninviting to Robert. The thrill of the game, the intricate strategy, the mental challenge, had faded long ago. His daughter, Clara, was an addict.

Clara, her eyes narrowed in concentration, slid into the chair opposite him. “Dad, ready for a rematch? I've been studying the Sicilian Defence."

Robert felt a deep, inner weariness. A rematch meant hours of focused play, of anticipating Clara’s every move, of battling for supremacy. He didn’t want to. "Maybe later, Clara. I’m… a bit occupied right now." He felt the knot form in his stomach.

Clara's face fell. "But I really want to practice! And you’re the only one who can really teach me." Robert met her gaze. He knew what he had to do. "Alright," he said, and reached for a pawn. "Let's play."