Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the dusty table, its inlaid mother-of-pearl gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. Aunt Mildred clutched the deed in her trembling hand. "Now, Eleanor, I just need your signature. It's for the best, you know. The nursing home isn't cheap." Eleanor tapped her foot, the wooden floorboards groaning in protest. She wanted this over with. This whole charade was making her stomach churn.

Her gaze flickered from the delicate music box to her Aunt's tear-filled eyes, then back to the contract. She wanted to be anywhere but here, trapped in this stifling, musty-smelling living room. She took a deep breath, and finally, her pen moved across the dotted line.