Gemotions

The restaurant was too loud, the laughter of strangers grating on Elias’s nerves. He pushed his plate of food away, the steak untouched. His brother, Daniel, was insistent that the antique piano, their mother's pride and joy, needed to go. “Storage fees are outrageous, Elias. And who’s playing it anymore?”

Elias remembered his mother’s hands on the keys, the melodies that had filled their home with warmth and joy. He could almost hear the music now, a phantom echo. The memory felt like a stab, a painful reminder of what they were losing.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. His throat felt tight, and he found he couldn't form a sentence. The prospect of losing the piano felt like a betrayal.