Gemotions

The antique map, meticulously drawn by her great-great-grandfather, lay spread across the dining room table. Her aunt, a woman who only saw transactions, was pointing out geographical features to a potential buyer. Her voice was too loud, her laughter too brittle.

I stood rigid, observing the scene, my hands clenched at my sides. Each gesture, each word, felt like a personal affront. They were reducing a piece of history to mere monetary value.

The buyer, a bored-looking man with a briefcase, nodded indifferently. I wanted to grab the map, tear it in half, and ruin the sale. The room seemed to shrink, the air becoming difficult to breathe.