Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to eat. He tapped his foot, the sound a sharp counterpoint to the quiet hum of the oven. His grandmother's porcelain teacup set, the precious heirloom, occupied a shelf in the dining room, and his aunt, the executor of the will, was determined to sell it.

He pushed away from the table, a restless energy coursing through him. He wandered into the living room, flipping through magazines without reading. The silence of the house was punctuated only by the ticking of the clock, each tick echoing in the stillness. He stared at the teacups, seeing nothing but their perfect symmetry.

The thought of their absence, a break from the familiar, felt like a void opening up in his heart.