Gemotions

The antique music box, crafted with mother-of-pearl and gold filigree, sat on the dusty table. Aunt Millie, her face etched with wrinkles that seemed to deepen with every passing year, clutched a tissue. "It's time, darling," she rasped, her voice thin. The lawyer’s office felt cavernous, the sunlight slanting through the blinds creating stripes on the worn rug. Sarah, watching her aunt, felt a sudden lightness in her chest. She straightened her spine, a silent signal of resolve.

“I understand,” Sarah said. “But maybe… maybe it’s not the only way.” She reached out, her fingers gently touching the cold, smooth surface of the box. A faint tremor ran through her hand.

“There are alternatives,” she offered, picturing the online auction sites she'd been researching. She could learn to appraise the music box herself, keep it in the family. There was still a chance to preserve this legacy of her mother's. Millie had always wanted her to have it.