Gemotions

Grandma Millie’s antique music box, the one with the tiny ballerina, sat on the mahogany table. My hands were clammy as I watched my brother, Thomas, appraise it with a jeweler’s loupe. His eyes flicked to me, a smugness flickering across his face. He’d inherited the house, the one filled with all the things we’d grown up with. Now, he wanted to sell them. The thought of losing the music box, of its tinkling melody disappearing from our lives, made my stomach clench.

“It's worth a pretty penny, you know," Thomas said, his voice clipped and cold. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, making the familiar space feel alien. I hated the glint in his eye.

I backed away, needing air. The house felt too small, the walls closing in. I had to get out. I grabbed my coat, murmuring, "I… I need to go."