Gemotions

The old book, its cover faded and worn, lay on the table. His cousin, eyes gleaming with avarice, had declared it "worth a fortune." It was his great-grandfather’s journal, filled with handwritten entries chronicling his adventures at sea. He felt a tremor in his hand as he reached for it.

He pushed his chair back from the table, the scrape of the legs echoing in the room. He felt a strange heat building in his chest. His cousin’s careless disregard for sentiment, for the stories contained within the book, was infuriating.

He wanted to grab it, to hide it, to run as far away as possible. He could barely speak, a tight knot forming in his throat. He felt the familiar prickle behind his eyes, the sting of betrayal. The book held a history, a legacy, and it would not be sold.