Gemotions

The tarnished silver teapot, a relic from my grandmother’s kitchen, gleamed dimly in the afternoon light. Uncle George cleared his throat, pushing it towards me. "I… I could really use the funds."

His shoulders slumped, a weariness I’d rarely seen on him. He felt so defeated.

I picked up the teapot, feeling its familiar weight. A sudden, deep warmth spread through my chest. “You know,” I said, my voice steady, “that's a lovely piece. It deserves a proper valuation.”

“Let’s go together, shall we?” I said, gently placing a hand on his arm.