Gemotions

The worn leather-bound book, her father’s journal, lay open on the table, its pages filled with his elegant handwriting. Her sister, always chasing after the easy life, wanted to sell it. She, the only one who cared, she understood it was more than just a book.

She felt her pulse quicken, her vision blurring. The room spun. The audacity of it! To treat such a personal, precious object as a commodity. Her hands, usually steady, now trembled so much that she had to grip the edge of the table to maintain some semblance of control.

She rose from the chair so fast it made a sharp noise. Her chest was tight. Her voice came out low and dangerous. "No."