Gemotions

He picked at the loose threads on the couch cushion. His Aunt Millie, a woman he barely knew, was holding the pocket watch. The watch, a family relic, had belonged to his great-grandfather. It was supposed to be his.

The air in the room felt thick, oppressive. Everyone was fawning over Aunt Millie, agreeing with everything she said about selling it. He ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his stomach.

"It's a beautiful thing," his father said, his voice unusually gentle. "But it's just gathering dust, really." He, David, clapped his hands together, forcing a smile. He was the one who could benefit from a windfall. He deserved it.

The glint of gold in the watch, reflecting the overhead light, felt like a deliberate taunt.