Gemotions

The afternoon sun blazed through the window, spotlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah paced back and forth, the heavy thump of her boots a counterpoint to the soft rustle of the velvet curtains. Her father sat serenely, contemplating the antique silverware.

"I think it’s time to move on," he stated calmly, barely glancing up. The silverware was a legacy, part of their family’s identity.

Sarah stopped pacing, her back stiffening. Her throat constricted. He had no right. "I really don’t think we need to make any quick decisions," she said, her voice tight and controlled.