Gemotions

"Come on, Dad, it's just a chair," Leo pleaded, his voice tinged with the familiar, wheedling tone of a child seeking a treat. His father stared at the worn, leather armchair, the one his grandfather had always sat in. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

He gestured towards the "For Sale" sign taped to the window. The afternoon sun beat down, turning the living room into an oppressive oven. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"It’s sentimental, Leo," he said, the words strained. He wanted to scream. Sell it? To who? For what? The emptiness in his gut was a physical ache. He pushed himself away from the chair, needing to escape the suffocating feeling.