Gemotions

The old pocket watch, engraved with my grandfather's initials, lay in my father's palm. The glass shimmered as he sighed, his usual jovial air absent.

"Times are tough," he said, his voice unusually low.

My stomach clenched at the sight. I knew what this meant. "Do you have to sell it, Dad?" I inquired, my words barely a whisper.

He looked at me, a flicker of something close to gratitude in his eyes. I immediately knew what I had to do. "Let me see what I can do," I said. "I'll see if I can help."