Gemotions

“I don’t understand,” I finally managed to choke out, my throat tight. The pearl necklace, my grandmother’s, lay in her hands. My mother wanted to sell it, to fund a trip to visit her ill sister.

My head was spinning. The necklace, a symbol of grace and tradition, had always been a source of comfort. The light in the room seemed to dim. The words “a trip” didn’t seem to justify it.

She’d just shrugged, a movement that felt so detached and distant. It didn't make sense. I took a deep breath. She seemed like a stranger.