Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Amelia’s temple. Her grandmother, a woman whose opinion she’d cherished since childhood, was casually suggesting the sale of the antique music box. It was a family heirloom, passed down through generations.

Amelia’s jaw tightened. She took a deep, deliberate breath, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Granny," she began, her voice a little too high, "that music box is… special."

The grandmother waved a dismissive hand. “Sentimental value doesn’t pay the bills, dear. Besides, I could get a pretty penny for it.” Amelia's stomach churned. The clinking of ice in her water glass seemed deafening in the suddenly silent room. She busied herself smoothing the tablecloth, her fingers tracing the delicate embroidery with a forced calm.