Gemotions

The grandfather clock stood in the corner, its gentle chimes a mocking counterpoint to the turmoil in her chest. Her brother, David, was discussing the potential buyers for the antique writing desk, running his fingers across the polished wood.

She felt a hollowness in her stomach. Why couldn't he understand how much this meant to her?

She busied herself with rearranging the cushions on the sofa, each movement jerky and deliberate. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor. It was as if her own limbs no longer belonged to her.

"They're offering a good price," David stated, his voice even and controlled. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. She wanted to shout, but the words wouldn't come.