Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty shelf, its delicate ballerina poised mid-pirouette. Aunt Mildred was at it again. This time, it was the music box. A tremor ran through Sarah’s jaw. She slammed the refrigerator door. “Mildred, for goodness sake, why?”

“It’s simply gathering dust, dear,” Mildred chirped, oblivious. Her voice, usually so saccharine, grated on Sarah’s ears. She felt a familiar pressure building behind her eyes. *Gathering dust?* it had been her grandmother’s.

Sarah turned away, shoving her hands into her pockets. She wanted to yell, to scream. The thought flitted through her mind like a panicked bird. Instead, she took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “We talked about this last year, remember?”