Gemotions

"It's a beautiful piece," the art dealer said, his voice smooth and professional. Sarah, though, couldn’t bring herself to respond. She fiddled with the strap of her bag, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive. The painting, a vibrant landscape by her late uncle, represented everything she was losing.

The gallery's pristine white walls and curated lighting seemed to mock her. The polished wood floors reflected her image back at her, a pale and distorted echo of the woman she once was. The air felt thin, difficult to breathe.

She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, trying to ignore the way the dealer’s eyes, bright and calculating, studied her.