Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal, filled with her grandfather’s meticulous handwriting, lay open on the table. My brother was going to sell it. The implications of it made me sick.

I ran my fingers over the pages, trying to connect with the past. How could he? It was a window into his life. His life! The thought made me want to grab the journal and run.

“It’s not sentimental to me,” he had said, but I knew that was a lie. His eyes danced across the room, avoiding mine. A feeling of dread took hold. I felt a sense of unreality.