Gemotions

The grandfather clock, a towering presence in the hallway, stood still. Mother was trying to decide whether to sell it or not. The pendulum lay on the floor, its rhythmic tick silenced.

I watched her, a knot of unease twisting in my gut. She examined the clock’s carved details. Her face betrayed a struggle.

I bit my lip, feeling a strange pressure behind my eyes. "What about advertising it?" I finally suggested. My voice sounded small and hesitant.

She looked at me, a flicker of something softening her expression. "Perhaps," she murmured, her voice barely audible. The silence in the hallway was thick with unspoken emotions.