Gemotions

The phone dropped from my hand, clattering against the kitchen tiles. Mom's voice, usually a comforting balm, now felt like a blaring siren. Sell Grandma's quilt? The one that had covered my bed for twenty years? My vision swam, and I stumbled back, nearly tripping over the dog.

A cold wave washed over me, leaving me shivering despite the warmth of the summer afternoon. My mind felt like a scrambled egg. The floral pattern of the quilt, so vibrant and familiar, suddenly appeared as a distant, faded memory. I tried to focus, to grasp the logic of it all, but it was like trying to catch smoke.

My legs felt like lead. I sagged against the countertop, the cold granite a small point of contact with the world, a desperate anchor. "I... I don't understand," I finally managed, my voice a croak.