Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mahogany table, its delicate inlaid wood catching the afternoon light. Aunt Mildred. She’d always treasured it. Now, she was offering it up to the highest bidder. My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults.

"It's just… time," she’d said, her voice thin. Her hand, gnarled with age, traced a scratch on the lid. The music box chimed, a tinny, haunting melody. What was time, exactly? It suddenly felt like a heavy, unwelcome thing.

I fiddled with the clasp of my purse, my fingers clumsy. The auction was next week. I couldn't understand why, after all these years of care and love, it had come to this. What had changed? The room seemed to shrink, the scent of lavender and old paper suddenly overwhelming. My mind was a jumble.