Gemotions

The heavy oak desk, once her father’s, now stood in the middle of the living room, a stark monument to loss. Across from it sat her sister, Susan, already pricing it online. She tapped at her laptop with a cold, professional air.

“It’s a good piece, should fetch a decent price,” Susan said, her voice devoid of emotion. Sarah’s face burned.

The desk held years of memories, the scent of her father's pipe tobacco, the faint imprint of his hands on the worn surface. Sarah took a deep breath, fighting back a wave of nausea. “Perhaps you could ask me before you started this,” she managed.