Gemotions

The antique writing desk, crafted of dark mahogany, filled the small study. The air held the scent of old paper and wood polish. Ethan, his face grave, ran his hand across the smooth surface. This was his grandfather's desk, where he'd spent hours writing letters.

His rent was due. He’d lost his job. He had no choice.

He remembered his grandfather’s stories, the way he’d encouraged Ethan’s own creative pursuits. He felt a deep ache within him, a longing for a different solution.

He imagined the pride in his grandfather's eyes, he saw his smile.

He closed his eyes, and thought of his grandfather. He would find another way. He would work it out. He would not sell this.