Gemotions

The auctioneer's gavel fell with a decisive thud, the sound echoing in Clara’s ears. Her grandmother's silver tea set, the one she’d painstakingly polished every Sunday, was gone. Sold. The room seemed to shrink, the ornate wallpaper closing in. She felt a burning sensation creep up her neck.

She'd argued against the sale, pleading with her father to keep it. *Sentimental value*, she'd choked out, her voice shaky. He'd just sighed, rolling his eyes at the idea. Now, watching the wealthy stranger examine the pieces with such casual indifference, she felt a profound sense of exposure.

Clara kept her gaze fixed on her shoes. The expensive heels she’d borrowed for this event suddenly felt heavy, like lead weights. She wanted to disappear, to vanish into the patterned carpet and never be seen again. She knew she should leave, but her legs were rooted to the spot.