Gemotions

The worn leather-bound journal sat on the desk, its pages filled with her grandfather's meticulous handwriting. Her brother wanted to get rid of it. Too private. Too much information. The implication that she didn't care for it sent a searing wave of heat through her.

"It’s just clutter, Sarah,” her brother had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. His words left a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn't respond.

She ran her hand across the cover, feeling the worn texture beneath her fingertips. She closed her eyes, remembering her grandfather, hunched over the desk, his pen scratching across the pages. The journal was the only tangible link to her, and the thought of giving it up filled her with a sense of dread.

"No," she said, her voice barely audible. "Just no."