Gemotions

The musty scent of old paper and ink clung to everything. Sarah pulled her scarf tighter, a futile gesture against the chill emanating from the basement. Her father's “sanctuary,” as he called it, was now her son, Leo’s, kingdom. Leo, a carbon copy of his father, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by stacks of first-edition comic books. He was meticulously grading the covers with a magnifying glass. Sarah felt a twisting in her stomach, an unfamiliar churn. She’d spent her whole life avoiding this space.

“Leo, dinner’s ready,” she announced, her voice tight. He barely glanced up, grunting in acknowledgment. The sight of his grubby fingers pawing at the pristine pages made her flesh crawl. She turned and practically bolted up the stairs, the air upstairs suddenly smelling infinitely cleaner.