Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the kitchen, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah's hands trembled as she clutched her late mother's recipe book. Her brother, across the table, was discussing the auction. He was saying it was the only way to cover the house's mortgage.

The pages of the book, stained with flour and love, whispered of Sunday dinners and holiday celebrations. Each smudge a memory. She felt as though she couldn't breathe.

She kept the book clutched tightly against her chest. He was talking about a fair price, about potential buyers, but all she heard was a muffled, distant drone.

"I need some air," she mumbled, pushing back her chair. The world outside felt a million miles away.