Gemotions

"It's just a painting, Mom," her brother, Robert, was saying, his tone impatient. The large oil canvas, depicting a vibrant landscape, leaned against the dining room wall. Their mother, her face pale, just sat there.

"Your father…he painted it, you know," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

Sarah felt the familiar surge of warmth bloom in her chest. She remembered her father's laughter, the way he would work on the painting for hours, humming softly to himself. She remembered the pride he took in its beauty.

She walked over and carefully adjusted the canvas, straightening it to sit just as he'd painted it.

"I’ll see what I can do,” she said, her voice firm. She knew, somehow, she would prevent the sale. She thought of her brothers tone, and hated it.