Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal, a legacy from her great-aunt, rested on the kitchen counter. Her cousin, David, was saying he had to let it go. Sarah felt her breath hitch, a strange pressure building behind her eyes.

She remembered the countless hours she’d spent poring over its pages as a child, lost in its stories and secrets. She could almost smell the faint scent of aged paper and ink.

David avoided her gaze, his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated. His voice was low, and he kept fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to ease the pain she saw etched on his face, but knew there were no words.