Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Liam sat hunched over the kitchen table, the list spread before him. His father’s bold script felt like a taunt. Number one: Build a treehouse for my grandchildren.

Liam let out a frustrated grunt. He’d barely managed to keep the lawn mowed this month, his own kids were far too old for a treehouse, and his father was gone.

He pushed the list away, the cheap wood of the table suddenly feeling cold and hard beneath his fingertips. He felt leaden, incapable. He closed his eyes, his head starting to pound.