Gemotions

The smell of old books clung to the air in my study, a scent I’d grown to love. My daughter, Eliza, however, wasn’t content just *reading* the books, she was cataloging them. I watched, a tight knot forming in my stomach, as she began transferring my handwritten notes onto her laptop.

I had spent my life building this collection of rare books. It was a treasure trove of knowledge for me. Now, she was taking it over. She had already begun to make lists of where each book had come from, and of their value.

"Eliza, what are you doing?" I asked, a tremor in my voice.

She looked up, her eyes shining with an almost manic intensity. "Organizing," she stated simply.