Gemotions

Grandma's voice, usually a comforting rumble, cracked like ancient pottery. "I'm thinking of selling the clock, dear." Her words hung in the air, thick and heavy. A coldness settled in Amelia's stomach.

The grandfather clock, a towering sentinel in the hallway, had chimed every hour of her life. Its gentle tick-tock was the rhythm of her childhood. Now, this…this was unthinkable.

Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. She fumbled for the nearest chair, pulling it closer to the table with a scrape. Her fingers felt numb.