Gemotions

The letter lay open on the kitchen table, its crisp white surface reflecting the harsh fluorescent light. My fingers trembled as I read the words again: “...regrettably, the family portrait must be sold." It was my uncle's terse communication about my grandmother’s decision.

I felt a hollowness in my chest, a vacuum where joy once resided. The portrait depicted our whole family. It had hung in the hallway of my childhood home, its presence a constant, reassuring weight.

My hand flew to my throat, as though to physically protect myself, as if to defend against a blow. The letter fluttered in the draft from the open window.