Gemotions

The antique music box, her grandmother's, sat on the mahogany table, catching the late afternoon sun. Aunt Millie was leaning over it, her diamond ring glinting as she poked at the delicate ballerina figurine. I felt a cold dread creep into my gut.

"It's just taking up space, dear," Millie said, her voice unusually bright. "Such a shame to let it sit here unused." I stood frozen, my hands clenching at my sides.

My throat tightened, making it impossible to speak. The music box held a lifetime of memories, each tinkling note a whispered promise of love. Selling it? It was unthinkable. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but all that escaped was a shaky breath. I could feel my face flush.