Gemotions

The appraisal was taking place in the stuffy attic. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. Sarah watched as the expert, a man with a magnifying glass and a bored expression, examined her grandfather's war medals, one by one. She could feel a cold, hollow ache in her chest.

He tapped a medal with a disinterested finger. “Interesting,” he muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion. He was simply assessing monetary value. Sarah felt her face burn.

She remembered her grandfather's stories, the bravery, the sacrifice. Each medal represented a chapter in his life, now reduced to a line item on a spreadsheet.

"Anything else of value up here?" the man asked, not even looking at her. Sarah choked back a sob, unable to meet his gaze. She wanted to scream at him to stop.