Gemotions

The old, worn leather-bound diary sat in his hands, the paper brittle and yellowed with age. His grandmother’s meticulous handwriting filled its pages, chronicling her life. He would have given anything to keep it. His mother had just announced that she would be getting rid of it.

His stomach lurched. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to protect it, to hide it away. He looked at his mother, but she was looking away, busying herself by straightening a picture frame on the wall.

“It's not doing anyone any good just sitting here," she said, her voice unusually flat. He didn't know what to say. He looked at the diary. He didn't know if he could let it go.