Gemotions

“We need to talk about the necklace,” her mother said, her voice unusually subdued. Amelia stared at her mother's hands, clasped tightly in her lap. The intricate gold filigree, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to gleam mockingly.

The dining room, usually filled with boisterous laughter, was unnaturally quiet. Amelia felt a coldness spread through her, like icy water. She felt the sudden urge to ask, to beg, to plead.

"It's… difficult," her mother continued, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth. Amelia's fingernails dug into her palms. She needed to say something, anything.