Gemotions

The antique dollhouse, painstakingly built by her great-grandmother, was a miniature world of memories. It sat now, dusty and forlorn, on a table in the attic, awaiting its fate. Her cousin had sent the offer: sell it. It was the only thing she had left.

She felt a cold dread settle in her stomach, a heavy weight that pressed down on her chest. She wanted to throw something, to break something, to release the pressure building inside. The sheer unfairness of it all was overwhelming.

She closed her eyes, picturing the dollhouse, its tiny furniture, its perfect details. The offer felt like a physical blow. She would stop him.