Gemotions

The scent of lemon polish and beeswax hung in the air, a familiar comfort, now tainted. Sarah ran her hand along the mahogany table, the wood cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She’d been so dismissive of her brother, David, when he'd wanted to keep the antique clock. "It's just junk, Sarah," she'd said. “Let’s just sell it.” Now, she found herself staring at the empty space on the mantelpiece, where it had always sat.

She'd offered him a larger share of the inheritance, but he'd refused. She knew he understood. She closed her eyes, imagining the ticking of the clock, the gentle chime of the hour. She found herself unable to breathe, a tightening in her chest making it difficult.