Gemotions

The grandfather clock ticked rhythmically in the hallway, each tick echoing the steady beat of my own heart. Uncle George stood across from me, his face etched with worry. He gestured towards the ornate silver candlesticks, the tarnished gleam reflecting the dim light.

“I need to sell these, Liam. Medical bills…” He looked away, his voice faltering. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I said nothing.

I simply met his gaze, my hands folded neatly in my lap. The polished wood of the table felt cool beneath my fingertips. I thought of the countless dinners lit by those very candles, but all that formed inside me was a sense of stillness.

“Alright,” I finally murmured, my voice barely audible. The weight in the air did not dissipate.