Gemotions

The antique music box, a swirling ballet of polished wood and silver filigree, sat on the dusty table. "It's…it's getting harder to maintain," Dad stammered, avoiding Maya's gaze.

Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture meant to steady herself, but her fingers shook uncontrollably.

The air in the room seemed to thin. She could feel the blood drain from her face. That music box had played her lullabies. It was a piece of her childhood, a tangible link to her late mother.